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redrage71890 · 3 months ago

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ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste, "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?" hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—" he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic, the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke. not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

taglist: @neerathebrightstar , @ghostdoodlen , @prince-nikko , @daisy-spot , @strawberryglass , @h0neybun-was-here , @confused-they , @weirdcore-fantasy , @mystyque234 , @marssthings , @notwhoy0uthink , @aliengutzstuff , @lilyalone , @luffyadolover , @bunbunsonny, @lazyemmy , @questionthegrapevine , @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu , @winter-world , @budijojo , @budijojo , @altruisticbeauty , @dopepursebasketballplaid , @the-holy-pigeon , @red-phantom-0 , @em-draws14 , @thypplover , @cens0r3d-blog , @yl90 , @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch , @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo , @flyingpansaurus , @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog , @rogueofbullshit , @earlqurl , @dotomuses , @sheep-from-rad , @tsuniio , @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o , @radiantharry , @iwasveronica , @kdjhubby , @ashstwin , @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2 , @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

#if u like yandere and dc then read this series #series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader #yandere dc comics #🌷... yael's works #please show support to the creator

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redrage71890 · 3 months ago

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IF ANYONE LIKES YANDERE FICS AND TWST PLS GO CHECK THIS SERIES/AU OUT.!!!!

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 10. Chapter END TW-Descriptions of Gore.

Mis-misadventures with Tweedle Dee and Dum

Since the make-up unbirthday party yesterday, you felt as if you could safely say that the bulk of your drama was over, which unfortunately meant you had to go back into the horror story. Because in the few days since Riddle’s overblot your mind was consumed with worry.

While you were a little consumed with worry for Riddle’s health given the near death experience, you had spent most of it worried for yourself. Sure, you sort of forgave Riddle for his accidental slip in his fit of explosive rage. But an apology and forgiveness couldn’t erase the damage he might have done. Because now, you spent the last few days worried on how Ace and Deuce would react to that. And to make your blood pressure go up even more, since Riddle’s overblot Ace and Deuce hadn’t even said anything to you about it.

To make matters worse, your dreams had completely stopped over the last few days. That last one you had was the night of Riddle’s overblot and now instead of watching Winston lose his mind, you dreamed of the random garbage you once did before this abrupt vacation to Twisted Wonderland. Since Winston had said there was a way out of Wonderland, you had hoped that in your next dream you’d find the way out you were begging for. But it seemed that you would have to keep begging.

With all these concerning thoughts swirling in your head, it felt impossible to unweave them to feel even a semblance of peace. Altogether it massively sucked, it just seemed that the universe was against you again-

“Hello? Twisted Wonderland to _______?” Ace’s voice shakes you from your thoughts, and you suddenly zone back in. Ace looks up at you with a playful expression, “You still here with us?” he teases.

“Oh, sorry.” You chuckle nervously as you’re brought back down to earth and the rose maze. You’d come here that morning to hang out with Ace and Deuce, because even if you were extremely suspicious of them, you still enjoyed their company… just a little bit. As they’d told you, with it being the day after the unbirthday party, the dorm was all busy trying to clean up the garden for an upcoming event in two days. So you and Grim were in the hedgehog enclosure, keeping Ace and Deuce company as they fed the adorable hedgehogs.

“Grim, stop eating it!” Deuce is busy trying to get the perpetually starving cat out of the hedgehog food. Or more specifically, while you helped Ace and Deuce fed the hedgehogs, and Grim busied himself with eating the hedgehog food. “It’s for the hedgehogs!”

“Myah!” Grim struggles in Deuce’s grip.“I was promised free food, I’m gonna eat free food!” Grim argues, managing to stuff one more pawful into his mouth before Deuce rips him away. Yes, you did say that you’d stop by Trey to see if he had any leftover dessert from the unbirthday party yesterday, but considering how much the feline ate maybe it was for the best that he ate his weight in the hedgehog food instead of tearing up the grass with his fangs.

To be honest, you’re a little surprised that NRC shells out the big bucks for wet food for the hedgehogs, and considering how famished they are for it, you’re surprised there is so much of it. Minus the stuff Grim is rapidly consuming like a rabid animal. But considering the hedgehogs got used as balls, that’s probably the payment for whatever pain they experience.

Though the smell does bother you. It doesn’t smell like fish or meat, more metallic, like copper.

Despite that, you still help out and feed them. Almost all of them swarm you, eager to be fed by you rather than Ace and Deuce. You hum a soft laugh, reaching down to stroke their sharp quills on their tiny heads. “I don’t think they like you guys very much.” You chuckle lightly, as you set down the one you were holding to stroke back the tiny quills on each of their little heads.

“Yeah, because you’re the one pettin’ them and I’m the one stoppin’ them from eating the rose bushes.” Ace complains, setting down the bowls.

“Or maybe they don’t want to be near mean ol’ Ace.” You tease back, when they don’t immediately swarm him back at the new bowls of food you change your tune. Maybe they do like only you. Like everyone seems so far.

“Maybe not, they all seem to love you” Deuce chuckles when the tiny critter snaps at Ace when he tries to get closer to you. “I can’t blame them.” That fond look is back in his eyes as he looks at you and it makes your stomach churn in discomfort. Time to nip that one in the bud and get him sidetracked.

“Well, they’re like Grim, they just like me because I’m petting them.” you reason. Speaking of your not-cat dire beast, he’s now fighting with the free hedgehogs to protect his latest snacks. “Besides, once you keep feeding them, you’ll be their favorite human.”

“Still, it’s like they’re all gathering around you. Are you sure you don't have any magic that makes them and all the flamingos like you?” Ace’s teasing is accompanied with him ruffling your hair until you playfully elbow him in the side. It’s true that the flamingos prefer you upon meeting you, why else would you have won so easily at croquet yesterday. Or did they let you win? Nah, who cares.

“If I did, I’d have them maul you. Get you both off my back for a few hours.” You joke, half-serious. While spending time with them is fun, you would like a break every once in a while. After having them live with you, the only reason you were here was because you’d rather have witnesses if you vanish. Good thing the garden’s full of Heartslabyul students, otherwise you would have just stayed back.

Even so, Ace and Deuce have been relatively normal this whole time. And it’s been nice to just relax with them without any sign of them being weird with you. Maybe all your worry was just you being in your head. Maybe they really didn’t-

Deuce gives you an amused laugh, before asking something while looking so genuinely curious, “Hey, I heard once that animals like darlings more. I think it might be true for you, _____?”

You can feel time stand still.

As if your brain is a few seconds too slow, it doesn’t connect. Or maybe disbelief is keeping you from realizing it. Either way, you can only ask dumbly, “What did you say?” As if saying that would suck the words back in like they never existed, as if he’ll correct himself and it’ll just blow over as him misspeaking.

But they were said, and you’d probably never forget it because Deuce starts to repeat himself, still smiling, “Oh, I said-” before he freezes in realisation. You can see Ace’s eyes widen as the words start to register in his head too. “Shit. wait- I didn’t mean t-”

“Damn it, Deuce…” You watch Ace facepalm, so Ace probably did believe it too. Did he not want you to know? Or did they both want to keep you in the dark? Or did they not really think to tell you?

Deuce starts to repeat himself only to hesitate, maybe because the shock and horror you’re feeling is visible on your face, and he puts two and two together. But when Deuce finally notices the drop in the atmosphere’s happy mood and what he said. And both your reactions to what he said. “What the hell did you mean to say then?!” You didn’t mean to yell at him, but with how loud your blood roars in your ears you can’t find it within yourself to control it.

“I’m sorry I-” Deuce scrambles to apologize or think of an excuse for a moment that feels way too long. But nothing he says might bring you solace. Every fumbled word just proves that he believed you were a darling and planned on not saying anything about it to you. And you called him your friend. Deuce’s fumbling eventually progresses into silence, and he looks like a kicked puppy as he looks at whatever horrified expression you have on your face. “I’m sorry, A-Ace didn’t want me to tell you-”

“Way to throw me under the fucking bus, Juice!” As soon as Deuce’s accusatory words leave his mouth, Ace jumps in to defend himself. “And I didn’t say that, I said–”

“Yes, you did! You said-” They descend into a shouting match of ‘yes, you did’ and ‘no, you didn’t’ as you sit there and try to gather your mess of spiraling thoughts.

Despite your panic and the chill flooding your body, you take a deep breath to try and retain your composure. You need a clear head to deal with this. You can do this. It won’t go horribly wrong. You trying to stop an argument won’t end with someone over blotting like it did with Riddle. And yes, the fact you thought the overblot part up unprompted technically is a bad idea for your already high stress levels but focusing on that will only drive you even more crazy.

“Myah? What the heck are you guys yellin’ about?” Grim shoos away the hedgehogs, who had sought solace in your lap, curling up comfortably in your lap. While Ace and Deuce are too busy yelling at each other to notice, the familiar, friendly presence on your lap brings you the slightest bit of peace. You pet him and he purrs, and you can feel yourself steady after a few breaths.

“Something I’ve gotten sick of.” You say to Grim, before raising your voice loud enough to be heard over the duo's arguing. “Both of you, stop.”

You don’t even yell, saying it as calmly as possible, and even over their arguing they hear you well enough. Honestly, you’re getting tired of this. If they’re going to argue about something utterly insane, whilst leaving you out of the loop about something you’d dreaded, then they’re going to hear about how much you don’t like it. So without further stalling…..

At some time while you were lost to your spiraling, Ace and Deuce had almost resorted to blows as Deuce had Ace by his collar with his fist a good six inches away from Ace’s nose. You sigh, now more exhausted than stressed. “Deuce, drop him.” Deuce immediately does. Good to know that they’ll listen to you. “Good. No more fighting.”

They both murmur out apologies, taking a seat on the ground next to you, looking uncomfortably guilty. You ignore it, hugging Grim closer before taking a deep breath. “Alright. Now I need you both to just listen to me, why do you both think I’m a darling?

Ace brushes his clothes free of imaginary dust, before finally filling you in. “Well, Riddle kinda yelled it out for the dorm to hear.”

You sigh in exasperation, “Yes he did….” It might've seemed like a stupid question, but they were under no obligation to believe him, especially since he was on the verge of a mental breakdown while he said that . “But why did you believe him? He said a lot of things.

“Yeah well, when you and Riddle were both passed out, Crowley got back and panicked a little because he thought you were dead. And he sorta blurted you being a darling out for everyone to hear.”

“......He what?” You say deadpan at Ace’s explanation.

“Prefect… I asked him about what he was panicking about and he said something about you being a darling meant that if you died that he was going to be in serious trouble.” Deuce’s continuation of what the hell happened when you were unconscious makes some things clear. Like the fact you needed to punch Crowley in the teeth for one.

“Damn it, Crowley…..” Crowley proves to be absolutely useless in every regard including secret keeping. “And you both believed him.”

“Actually, I did first.” Ace being the first to think that doesn’t surprise you. With how suspicious he was of you, him not believing it wouldn’t make any sense.

You turn to look Deuce in the eye and ask him, “And you, Deuce?”

Deuce avoids your gaze out of what might be guilt. Maybe he felt bad for telling Ace the first time behind your back. “I actually didn’t, but hearing Ace talk about it later convinced me.”

So inevitably both of them would have found out, maybe there was no way you could have avoided this anyway. Either way, after Riddle you had no choice on whether or not this would be revealed to everyone. “Ok, well….now I have a question. And I want the truth as an answer.”

“Uh..Sure, ______.” They seem to dread whatever is going to leave your mouth.”

“Why have you been treating me like this because ‘I’m a darling’?!” You can feel tears prick your eyes as you finally say what’s been bothering you for so long. You might not be able to comprehend why this world even romanticizes what it does, but you aren’t undergoing any more stress because of this nightmare. “I don’t understand why you’re treating me differently because of this.”

Ace jumps in to deny it, “We’re not-”

But you cut him off, you’re not going through this a moment longer. “Yes, you are because no matter even before that you’ve both been acting! Talking behind my back, fighting each other over stuff like this and trying to keep secrets like this from me.” You keep going on and on as you finally get a mountain of stress off your chest. “I don’t care about why you all think that this is even borderline okay, and I really shouldn’t have to because I’m, and I can’t repeat this enough, NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!!” You end up shouting the last thing, but your point is, hopefully, clear.

“Prefect-”

“NO! I’m not done, so be quiet!” You yell as you quickly silence Deuce before continuing your verbal rampage. “I’m not even supposed to be here lost in a world that seems to lack pity, empathy and selflessness because it’s completely fine with dooming half the population to being held captive by someone who is ridiculously obsessed with them to the point consent goes out the window!!”

“____-”

“I SAID BE QUIET!! You don’t seem to understand how terrifying this is! Even if I was born here, I still would be as terrified and angry as I am now! And you can’t recognize how completely and utterly terrifying this is because you don’t have to experience it!” You pause to take a deep breath, and then your anger dissolves into sadness.

“_____?” You don’t yell at Ace this time. As you feel your heart swell with self-pity, and the tears in your eyes fall down your cheeks.

“This world is just so different from what I'm used to. And the fact that I’m someone that’s frequently a victim here, it’s been stressing me out.” You confess, wiping the tears running down your cheeks, “And because you two are always acting strange around me, I keep thinking that you’re going to hurt me.”

As soon as the idea that you would even consider them hurting you, they immediately deny it.

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“Prefect, I would never hurt you-”

Grim takes that moment to speak up, “Myah! Both of ya need to stop lyin’ about hurtin’ and scarin’ my henchman! She’s been cryin’ and panickin’ all week because of you guys!!”

You sniff, squeezing Grim tighter to you to seek some form of comfort. Your familiar/boss nuzzles up against you in response, to comfort you, which you gratefully accept, trying to calm the rhythm of your fast beating heart. You’re a little surprised that Grim is jumping to your defense. But he’s seen you go through the motions over the past few days. Maybe it’s been affecting him too.

“Prefect- ______ I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, fuck me- I don’t want to see you so afraid again.” They’re actually apologizing. Were you talking to them about it all you needed to do?

But if they’re willing to make sure that you’re not afraid of them, well that’s an opportunity that you shouldn't look past. Because to be honest, you don’t want to leave this garden with an ended friendship. “Look, I know that this is as strange to you as this is to me. But…. I just want you to be normal with me. Like you were with when we came back from the Dwarf's Mine. I don’t hate you, I actually want to be your friends.”

The two of them seem genuinely surprised that you feel that way. “Y-You do?!” You hear them say simultaneously.

You nod, wiping away the lingering tears from your eyes. “Yeah. I’m a little surprised I still do.” Which is the truth, but being alone is something you don’t want. “But I still like you guys as friends, as long as you don’t treat me differently or try to do anything bad against me….. then we’re all good.” You smile as you finish that, trying to make them feel as smidge better about this mess. You don’t hate them, you can’t find it in yourself to.

They say nothing for a while, before Ace lets out an exasperated sigh, “If that’s what you want, then I’ll do it.”

“Really?” You say in complete disbelief.

“Yeah, I wanna still be around you. If you don’t want me to act like that, I won’t if it makes you happy.” That was all it took?! Just asking them to stop being creepy around you and it worked?! There had to be a trick, or lie, Because there’s no way Deuce will-

“Me too. If you don’t want me to ______, I’ll try to stop acting like that.” Okay. You’re a little surprised that that worked. At least a little bit. Because even if they struggle a little bit. You might be gone when they can’t hold themselves back anymore.

“And you’re both serious?”

A “Yep.” from Ace and an “Absolutely.” from Deuce, are your replies. And you can feel a shred of relief flowing through you and spreading to every inch of your body.

“Great.” You can feel a smile forcing its way onto your face. You’re at least happy that they’re willing to try for your sake. “Great…. Thanks guys. But one more thing….”

You can see a wave of worry form on each of their faces as you add that part on. “What is it?!”

“I’ll make this clear. If either of you try to kidnap me or something, I’ll give you both hell got it?” You force yourself to stop smiling at that, just make sure that your threat is evident.

“Is that a threat?” Despite the actual threat, the look Ace gives you reminds you of the playfulness he showed you when he first met you. He knows you’re serious and he’s taking your words to heart, by treating you like he used to.

“I think it’s better to call it a promise.” You say, completely serious but matching his playful energy.

Deuce’s expression relaxes to one of determination. “Then Prefect, we’ll make sure we won’t forget it.”

“Yeah! Because if you ever try to hurt my henchman, I’ll cook ya!!” Grim, to prove his point, shoots out a flame that nearly burns the hay of the hedgehog enclosure.

After the flames are stomped out. you can finally relax for the first time in about a week. With the fear that you’d braved alone for a few days taken off your shoulders, you don’t feel as stressed as you’d been coming into this garden today.

“So we’re all good?” Ace says, hopeful to be past this nearly as much as you do.

You take a deep breath, finally relieved. “Yeah.” To be honest, you feel refreshed. You’re glad this conversation is out of the way. “I think we’re all good.” You smile as you say that, and their moods perk up. You’re happy and they’re happy. You’re glad to actually be friends with them without fear for once. Things can maybe be normal again.

Score one for healthy communication. Take that, yandere-ness.

You’re feeling much happier and relieved now that you’ve gotten that off your chest. And you’re just glad that it worked out without anything too horrific happening. And it’s a great feeling….

….for all of ten more seconds.

As soon as you start basking in the relief of having gotten that out of your system, you feel a pair of arms wrapping over your shoulder, and a familiar, upbeat voice that instead of bringing you continued relief and boosting your mood, sends your blood pressure through the roof. “Hey, hey underclassmen!”

Well, there goes your relief.

“C-Cater, what are you doing here?!” You turn, finding your face all too close to Cater’s. With your noses almost touching with how close they are. You try to pull away but from the way Cater’s holding you, you can’t scoot away from his grasp.

Cater pouts at your reaction, “Aww, I tht my favorite underclassmen would be excited to see me, #Ouch,” before smiling at you and granting you your explanation, “Lmao my bad if I scared you, I just pulled up to see what the drama was.” Drama? Wait, had he heard you?

“W-What drama?” Wait, had he heard you. Had the entire garden- No rather, had the whole dorm heard you. “Did you hear all that?”

“Uh huh, You were basically screaming your hot take into the void.” Well, that's both stressful and embarrassing. You might have yelled to the whole garden about you being a darling, and Cater, who probably had the same suspicions or already heard it. Damn it, you basically just announced it to him.

Even besides that, you’re still reminded that Ace and Deuce weren’t the only ones that had joined your ‘Be cautious of’ list. Cater had figured it out without anyone telling him. How that happened is still a mystery, because Riddle and Trey have a justifiable reason, Ace and Deuce needed to be told to believe it, and Cater had known before you even officially met Riddle and Trey.

A pressure on your back appears and suddenly yanks you away, pulling you completely out of Cater’s grasp. You’re pulled out of the hold and back into reality to find Ace's hand fisted in your shirt and both his and Deuce’s faces twisted in distaste. Now, you feel like an idiot, because while you were so stressed out about Cater hearing all that, you forgot about what your surrounding audience was seeing. You were so close to Cater, to the point where you probably looked so intimate with someone after you just went on a rant about why you hate the yandere stuff, in front of two of the yanderes who just promised to stop doing that. Like dangling a bloody, giant steak in front of two dogs and telling them not to take a bite out of it. Yay….

“You can let me go Ace..” you urge, and after a few seconds of tension that makes your already high blood pressure spike he lets you go. Of all things that to happen right after you basically yelled at them to get them to stop being so unnervingly creepy about you, “You both need to calm down,” you try to placate them, to stop them from beating the shit out of Cater for invading your personal space.

“But-” You silence Deuce with glare dead in his eye until his upset expression falters.

“This- It’s fine, I actually needed to talk to Cater anyway.” You don’t want them to keep going on about this when you already have your own mystery to solve. You can’t ignore the possible threat to your safety in Cater figuring it out all too soon, if any one outside of this dorm you got exposed in figured it out that could end horribly.

Unfortunately, your thinly-veiled plan to pry doesn't go over as you expected, or maybe it did go as you expected, because it went over badly…

“Wait, you do?” Cater looks genuinely surprised about the fact you’re happy to see him. Though happiness is an exaggeration, you’re more concerned than happy to see him.

“You do?” Ace, Deuce and Grim parrot his words in confusion, mostly because you had promised to hang out with them.

You suddenly feel astruck with nervousness, but backing down would be a bad thing considering what you need to know, “Yeah, I wanna talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for a while, that okay?”

“Def, should I expect a confession?” You flush at his forwardness, but you can see Ace and Deuce’s faces visibly tighten in distaste at the insinuation. Maybe you were a tad too optimistic, you can’t expect to 180 over one conversation. If you are their ‘darling’, then you might have to keep them from being jealous. It’s already an ugly thing and in this world, that might just be your downfall.

So play it like you’re uninterested. A bit late because you’re pretty sure you blushed at the flirt. And you might be terrible at this since you’d never really had to do this before. Regardless, you cement your face into a deadpan and answer “No, Cater. I just need to talk to you.”

Cater doesn’t stop smiling, but you hate that weird look in his eyes that seems to shift as he speaks, “Aw, too bad. Let’s go then-”

“She’s not going with you,” Ace suddenly objects. His hand wraps tightly around your forearm to stop you from standing. His eyes have that dark glint again, one that makes you think of the throes of jealousy blinding someone’s judgement.

“What are you on about? She just said-”

“The prefect’s sending the day with us, she’s not going to go with you.” Deuce objects. His face is tight again with that expression that makes you stress peak. You realise that you may have been a bit too confident in your earlier conversation working. You should have at least expected that it would take a while for what you wanted to set in.

Cater’s expression darkens faster as the longer they try to stop you from speaking with him,“Aw, C’mon Acey, Deucey, I won’t put a hand on her.”

You don’t really want to deal with this after just venting like you did. “Guys, we just talked about this. And you have your chores to do, I’ll meet up with you later. I promise.” You might come to regret that decision, but you do need them off you back just for a little while. “Remember what we talked about, I need to have space sometimes.” You don’t want them to break it so soon. You like being friends, and just friends, with them. And if they were to break their promise to you so fast you might have to stay away from them. And then that will just suck for everyone. “And you both promised me.”

“Yeah but..” Ace bites his tongue to stop himself from saying something, you feel he’ll regret. Because even if he argues against it, one way or another, you’re talking alone with Cater. No matter what he or Deuce says. Maybe that feeling is present on your face, because Ace gives into you, “Fine.”

“But-” Deuce tries to object too but after a few more seconds, of which you give him that same look again, he gives in too. “Nevermind.”

“Good. We’ll talk again later.” Even if this was a stumble in your hopes to have boundaries, you hoped that you’d be able to have them be a little normal around you. This really ran a lot deeper than you originally thought. “ C-c’mon Cater.” Ace and Deuce both look like they are fighting themselves to stop you from leaving but they don’t stop you. And you stand and leave Ace and Deuce behind, heading back into the twists and turns of the rose maze, all the while pulling Cater by his arm.

Where the two of you, plus Grim, are alone.

You can’t help but feel a little upset. You knew that the path to change would be a bumpy road full of mistakes but you hadn’t expected Ace and Deuce to act like that so soon after you spoke with them. You rake your fingers through Grim’s soft fur. And while he silently grumbles in your arms, the purrs he makes put you at peace. You could do this now to deal with Cater.

“You good?” Cater pulls you out of your stupor, “They kinda killed the vibe.”

“Yeah, sort of.” After that, you don’t want to beat around the bush. Might as well rip off the bandage clean. “Cater, I wanted to talk to you about...um, how did you know I was a ‘darling’? I just learned I was one the day before. So how did-”

“Ohhh, so that’s what had you all pressed and stressed, huh?” Cater flashes you a playful smile, unbothered by the question that had distressed you earlier. “ To be fr, I didn’t.”

Wait, what? “But I thought- You called me a darling the day you met me, I thought that… that you figured me out.” How had he not, was that just you confusing what he said? Because he was pretty clear with how he said it. You remember him saying, ‘darling’ word for word. Wasn’t that what the whale world called the victims of this obsessive love?

“Yeah, ngl, I was just lowkey flirting with you, but I didn't think you'd freak out like that over one of my alts.” So that was just… harmless flirting? You nearly had a panic attack because of some playful flirting by an upperclassman? “No offense, but it’s not everyday when a cute girl falls into an all-boys school. Might as well shoot my shot before you’re snatched up.”

“Oh…My bad.” you say lamely, feeling a little embarrassed. So this was just a misunderstanding, and you blew it way out of proportion. That’s a relief. One hell of one. You can’t help but feel a little silly in retrospect. Despite this world’s flawed view of romance, there should exist even a possibility that some normal aspects of it still exist here. Like flirting. You might need to adjust your worldview.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, did I freak you out like Acey and Deucey did?” So he caught onto that, huh?

“You really heard all that didn’t you? Was it all that obvious?” If it was, that would be in your best interest. It could help if someone noticed that either one of them are on the verge of going off their rocker, it probably could save you in a pinch.

“Painfully. SRSly, I could not live the way you do.” He literally shudders, whether it's dramatic or genuine it strikes you as a bit odd. “ Ugh, literally can’t even. The struggle is so real." While he is right, he doesn’t really know what it feels like. To be honest, you barely know what it feels like. So why would he know how painfully hard it is when he lives on the other end?

“No offense, but how do you know about that?” You ask, genuinely curious. Given your now clear history of jumping to conclusions, maybe it’s best you stop and hear him out first. Maybe he had a good explanation.

“Oh, blame my sisters for that.” Cater looks genuinely displeased at being reminded of that detail. Were his sisters yanderes like him?

“Your sisters?”

Cater sighs, and his face scrunches up in what has to be genuine annoyance, “TL;DR my sisters have been manifesting a darling brother like their lives depended on it.” The explanation makes sense to you, and it sheds some insight to his understanding of your situation. Though the idea of your family being obsessed with you makes your stomach churn in disgust. It seemed like no relationship was off-limits when it came to this crazy and creepy love.

“Oh… I’m-”

“No need to say sorry, I'm lowkey desensitized at this point.” Cater smiles saying that as if it wasn’t something that clearly bothered him. Still, he brushes it off like it was nothing, “Anyways, that’s it or??”

A part of you wanted to pry further, but decide against it. You wouldn’t want anyone here prying into your past regardless of this world’s creepy values. Maybe you could try to learn more about darling’s here. Getting a feel for what darlings go through might be in your best interest to do. But you don;t want to bother Cater further. “Yeah, I think that’s it.”

Happy to be done with all this heavy stuff, Cater smiles that playful smile again. “Okay, now that’s finally done, can we like actually take some pics together? I don’t even have a single one of you smiling on Magicam.” Maybe this was a bad decision, maybe, but you actually accept. What’s the harm in a little fun?

You come to regret that decision promptly thirty minutes later. When you agreed, you thought Cater would have taken maybe ten or fifteen shots, taking no more than five to ten minutes. That was 74 pictures ago, including restakes for blinking and blurry pics. Now you’re tired of all this and wanting to move on to whatever else you wanted to do today. But Cater wouldn’t exactly listen to you.

“Cater… are we done now?” You were getting tired of so many pictures. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, your retinas had flashes singed into them and you weren’t exactly feeling like a shutterbug anymore. You try to push yourself away from Cater’s grip on your waist, only to draw you back for yet another.

“C’mon, one more pleaseee!!!” Cater says for what has to be the umpteenth time. You sigh in a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

“No. I have stuff to do-”

“Why tho? Why don’t you wanna stay with me?" Cater pouts, but that nagging voice is back and telling you to quit this, might as well listen this time.

“No, I-I just have to….” Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this, what’s a reasonable excuse that doesn’t inspire jealousy?

Thank the seven for what happens next “Myah, Henchman, I’m hungry!!!” Grim’s whiny complaints are much appreciated at this moment. Because it gives you an out, as you’re reminded of what you’d promised Grim earlier

“I, uh, promised Grim that I’d see Trey for free food.” You really hope that works. You’re in for a long day if it doesn’t. Thankfully though, Cater releases his hold on you, allowing you to hurriedly scoop up Grim prepared to make your great escape. Before you turn to leave, you stop to say good-bye, “I’ll, uh, see you later?”

Cater’s expression is both unreadable and unnerving initially, before turning back to his upbeat smiles, “Yeah, _____ TTYL!” As soon as he says his good-bye you wave back, before speeding back into the rose maze, right then not caring for where you’re going. Getting away feels a lot better than how you felt a minute ago.

“Myah…” Grim grumbles in your hold, “Are we gonna eat now?!”

“Alright, alright, let’s go see Trey…” You finally give in to get Grim’s payment for his time. You do owe him one for the reasonable excuse.

As you walk back through the maze, you question what really makes someone someone else's darling. Cater had flirted with you upon first meeting you, and that could be some harmless fun given your situation, but what if it was something deeper? Could what he brushed off as harmless flirting, but could it be a sign of him starting to fall for you?

Sure, Cater had you living in slight fear for what that meant. What exactly caused someone to become someone else’s darling? Because if Cater was one for you, didn’t that mean you had three to worry about? You had been confused about how Ace and Deuce even fell for you in the first place, so maybe that had to do with why they seemed to get so quick to invade boundaries. You can consider the fact you’re a tad bit too hopeful, because if this thing was ingrained into their entire being that was reason to be concerned.

Maybe you were half-right earlier, maybe they are just half-normal.

A Golden Afternoon.

You know your plan to venture back through the maze to go ask Trey if he could spare some desserts for Grim…? Well, that would be the plan if you could remember how to find your way back. Out of all your decisions, maybe it wasn’t the best choice to go back alone in a maze when you barely knew how to get back through it even before you came here today.

“Henchman..” Grim’s whining had continued for the last five minutes, as you kept turning the seemingly endless paths of the rose maze trying the way back to the stupid dorm building.

“Yes. I know it’s my fault we’re lost, Grim…” You repeat, for what has to be the umpteenth time. Your decision to go it alone might not have been the best one in hindsight, right now dealing with Grim’s whining you didn’t really care that much.

Something soft and furry tickles your ankle and makes you jolt, adding onto the once-reduced pile of stress you have. You’re the only one on this path and at the same time, it’s a giant rose garden full of wildlife. A rabbit could have run by for all you knew.

“Henchmannnnnn!” Grim’s whining reaches a crescendo, and you can’t help but sigh in exasperation.

You take your eyes off the twisting and turning path of the maze inn front of you to scold Grim, “You just ate your weight in grass and hedgehog food, how can you possible be-”

“Um… Am I interrupting anything?” You and Grim look up to find Riddle, with his face scrunched up in a rather awkward expression.

You’re just a little surprised and embarrassed since you hadn’t heard him coming earlier, “N-Not exactly, just telling Grim he has to be patient… What are you doing here?”

“I know that

“Henchman, no!” Grims whines once more, “We’re supposedta go get food from Trey!”

You sigh once more, you can feel your social battery running low but you bite back those thoughts, “Look, I know you must be busy but do you mind guiding me out? I’m sort of lost…”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind my company-” You cut him off, glad to find your way out of this stupid maze and feed Grim as fast as possible.

“Great.” You hook an arm around Riddle’s to which the aforementioned dorm leader jolts in surprise for a brief moment. “Lead the way.”

Riddle’s as stiff as a board of wood as you take his arm, and for a few minutes, with the exception of Grim’s whining, the three of you walk through the maze. As you walk, Riddle’s face tells you that there’s something that bothers him, his face a subtle red in comparison to the raging red he wore a few days ago. That and the hold that he has on your arm, so tight that you can feel it bruising. Clearly, something’s bothering him.

Well, let’s get this over with. You tune out Grim’s food/hunger based whining and ask, “You have something on your mind, don’t you?”

Riddle’s full body stiffness falters at the sound of your voice, “W…Was it that obvious?”

“Unfortunately,” But you can’t blame him for that, he nearly died a few days ago and had to have an emotional collapse thanks to his mom’s issues making his life that much more difficult. You’re not a therapist, but venting about your problems made your day a little better, it might do the same for you. “You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

Riddle battles his internal conflict for a minute longer before taking a deep breath, and making eye contact with you, “Do you hate me?”

The question is so blunt that it makes you feel incredibly awkward now. “W-What do you mean?”

“I know we discussed this yesterday, but I can’t help but feel as though I haven’t made amends with you fully. And, speaking of, I owe you another apology. Trey informed me of your duress at my words a few days ago. My angry raving revealed something you want to keep quiet-”

You interrupt him, tired of dealing with that mess. Better nip the bud before it blooms, “I don't hate you, Riddle. The only reason I said that you weren’t entirely forgiven yet was because I wanted to see you become a better person before I forgave you fully…” You can see Riddle visibly sag in relief as you confirm his idea of your presumed hatred was all in his head. Though since the topic changed to him wanting to owe you another apology might as well learn why he wanted to do so, you are at least a little more curious about why he wanted to apologize than you were interested in getting an apology. “You don’t have to apologize, nothing you could say or do could undo that. But why were you so angry with me? I wasn’t the only one calling you out.”

Riddle visibly hesitates“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have said what I did but it’s just… Mother taught me that darlings like you needed a….” You can see him visibly hesitate on whatever he planned to say next, “a firm hand to prevent them from stepping out of line.”

“The way you said that tells me you don’t agree, don’t you?” You know that he’s at least questioning what of his mother’s inane rules were right and wrong, but for him to doubt one of them so greatly he looks somewhat sick at the thought of it, “Look, I’m already pretty sure that she was wrong about it but the fact that you don’t already is a little surprising, so why don’t you agree?”

“It’s a long story… I’ve only considered my mother’s rules wrong twice. The second time was the last time, after what happened with my father.” Once again, Riddle’s face seems to fall as grim as Grim’s name, so you decide not to pry this time. Unlike with Deuce, you anticipate something darker than you’d like to deal with today.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t agree. Your future darling will appreciate it.” Riddle freezes in his steps, and your heart rate suddenly skyrockets, “S-Something wrong?” You notice a soft flush on his cheeks, a pale pink in comparison to the raging red you were used to when he was angry. You hate that you realise that he’s flustered. This day was just a rollercoaster of highs and lows, wasn’t it.

“N-Nothing,” he wisely brushes it off and instead shifts the conversation to something else. “B-But, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do…. Do you remember seeing anything strange while I was unconscious?” Ok, now you wish it was a different something else.

“Uh… What do you mean by that??” You tactfully dodge the subject because you don’t know how to respond to that yet. If anything, you wanted more than anything to avoid it, being sucked into his head to witness his trauma felt a little like you were invading his privacy. “I was kind of knocked out, so all I was seeing was a load of black.” You say nervously, hoping that convinces him.

“Well, this may sound odd, but I remember seeing you.” The slight flush turns from pink to a soft red, “You were telling me to not give up and die there, that you would-” He pauses for a reason unknown to you, before continuing, “sorry, that we could be friends when we got out. I didn’t want to bring it up with you yesterday but I was under the impression that you don’t have any magical capabilities, so how in the Twisted Wonderland did you appear there?”

“I really don’t have a clue. Whatever happened I don’t even know what caused it.” You explain equally confused,

“No matter how strange that is, it did help save your life. No complaining about that.” You find it confusing, but you’ll probably never find out why. Overblots being rare here meant that the likelihood of this happening again was slim to none. You’re just glad no one died, the idea of facing death in the world is a scary one. “I didn’t mean to see what I saw, but it did help me understand you a little more, Riddle. I can’t judge you for how you turned out with how psycho your mom was. As long as you don’t act that way again, then I don’t really have any problems with you.”

Maybe what you’re saying would be a mistake in hindsight, but honestly it was partially the truth. Riddle had no way of taking back what he said, and you just wanted to not deal with any more dorm drama along with your own. So forgiveness is earned.

“Y-You don’t?”

“Were you expecting me to demand you spend the rest of your life making it up to me?” You joke. You’re not cruel, and being angry at the past would just make you constantly angry and mean, so you’ll put aside any grievances. “I’m not. I just want to put all this behind us.”

Riddle looks a little shocked that you would even say that, before his cheeks flush, “Well… if you have no problem with it… Would you be adverse to..” A blush on Riddle’s face deepens, “....being friends with me?”

Your judgement wasn’t the best so far, but that had been your end goal when you arrived here. Though you can’t be sure of whether or not this blush on his face means something more than you think, it probably won't be bad being friends with him with his new ideology on rules. Besides you were being open minded today, what bad could come out of you letting him be friends with you.

And, what the hell, you could afford to be a little nice. You smile at him, “Sure, as long as you don’t cause me any more headache.” You add onto the end, jokingly. “Speaking of heads…” Entering the dorm to find the students looking a lot brighter in spirits than they had been the last few days of Riddle tyranny is more soothing than you originally thought it would be. Riddle couldn’t make a lot of change in his behavior over the past few days, but it was enough that the bustling students didn’t look like the stiff soldier you met them all to be back at the first failed unbirthday party.

To you it was a welcome sign that things could change for the better and that Riddle could change for the better. You give a tender squeeze of Riddle’s arm, “I’m happy you’re not causing them to roll at the slightest rule violation, and because of that, I think that I could actually be friends with the calmer version of you.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not entirely a lie. It was your original goal, but you’re too tired to deal with the perils of friendship at the moment.

Regardless, Riddle’s face lights up, and the ‘awkward blush’ on his face is joined by a bright, and very welcomed, smile. “Thank you, _____,” you hear him whisper under his breath.

Once the doors of the dorm’s kitchens come into view, “Finally! C’mon, Henchman!” Grim leaps out of your arms and escapes into the kitchen doors finally ready to reap the rewards of his impatience.

You roll your eyes, turning back to Riddle lightly patting the fading bruise on his cheek before smiling, “Well, thanks for helping me out, I’ll see you later?”

The soft flush returns once more, and he smiles, “Yes, yes, I will.”

You slip into the kitchen with a smile on your face, Even with the added stress of this world, maybe it won’t be as bad? Who knows if you ever get past all the stress and mania you’ll be able to feel a little normal here. Maybe.

A Caterpillar's Daze.

You’d like to grow familiar with the comforting smell of the Heartslabyul kitchen. According to some of the other students, if there was one room Trey probably spent most of his time in it was this one. And the smell of warm sugar soothes whatever other nerves you had. And well, the baker’s calm nature really helps too.

“Hey, Trey!” The bespeckled baker smiles at you as soon as he sees you. He’s missing his jacket, but by the amount of flour that’s on his hands and the countertops full of baking equipment and freshly decorated pastries, the culprit is obvious.

“Ah, _______. I wasn’t expecting you today. Though I guess I should have when Grim popped up.” Trey looks pleasantly surprised by your arrival, and entertained by the wiggling cat beast in his grip, still desperately trying to eat the array of food Trey’s working on. “You look better.”

“Yeah, I’ve sleeping bett-”

“Myah, Trey do ya got any tarts!” Grim interrupts your small talk to demand his right to eat the countertops full of food, which he would be devouring if Trey wasn’t holding him by the scruff of his neck. “C-C’mon, I’m hungry!”

You sigh awkwardly, before wrangling Grim back into your grip, “Sorry, but as Grim very rudely asked, could you please spare some of your desserts?” You spare a glance at all the work he’d been busy with on the countertops. “If you want, I could help you out in exchange?”

“Well, since you asked me so nicely.” Trey smiles at you in a way that makes you feel content. “You’re in luck, I have plenty. Go-” In response to Trey’s barely finished sentence, Grim promptly dives out of your arms onto the tray and stuffs his face. “-ahead. Nevermind then.”

“Finally!” Grim stuffs his face full like a starving, well, animal. You chuckle fondly,

You’d like to grow familiar with the comforting smell of the Heartslabyul kitchen. According to some of the other students, if there was one room Trey probably spent most of his time in it was this one. And the smell of warm sugar soothes whatever other nerves you have. And well, the baker’s calm nature really helps too.

“Myah!” Grim, meanwhile, is too busy demanding his right to eat the countertops full of food, which he would be devouring if Trey wasn’t holding him by the scruff of his neck. “C-C’mon, I’m hungry!”

“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping better. Came by because Grim is always hungry and as his henchman I have to satisfy his cravings.” You explain, scanning the plethora of finished and half-finished pastries and desserts on the counter tops. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare treats, would you?”

Trey smiles at you in a way that makes you feel content. “Well, you’re in luck, I have plenty.” He drops Grim on what has to be a plateful of cream puffs and Grim immediately goes rabid on the stack. “You both can help yourself if you don’t mind keeping me company.”

Well, it could be worse, “Sure, why the hell- Mhm!” The tartlet is in your mouth before you get the opportunity to think of accepting it. Either way, to you at least, what harm will a little tart do? “Why are you so amazing at baking Trey…” You praise, nibbling the offered bite of warm pastry, and humming happily as the comforting taste crosses your tongue. “Why are you even making all this stuff anyway? All this can’t be for the dorm.”

“I’m glad you like it. And you’d be right, these are for another dorm mate's birthday.”

“Well, in that case, I can’t wait to see what you’d make me for my birthday,” You joke, nudging him with your elbow in the side playfully. You take another bite of the tartlet, not feeling that strange lethargic pull you had last time. “What I’d give to eat like this everyday…”

Trey hums a laugh at your compliments. “You flatter me, _______.”

You hum a laugh, “I’m not lying, it's delicious. Could you come over and make breakfast for me every morning, I’d be thankful for the rest of my life.” Your question is rhetorical but you still would appreciate it. It'd be nice to have something good come out of this. “Why are you making all this? It can’t just be for me.” You tease.

Trey humors your teasing before answering your question.“Unfortunately, it’s not. Another dorm member’s birthday is coming up this week, so I'm tasked with preparing for the party.”

“Well, then I’d like to see what you’d do for my birthday.” You smile, before taking another bite out of the sweets. Despite the sweetness a bitterness worms its way into your skull and a question plagues your mind. You might as well ask, “Hey, this may be a confusing question… but what exactly is it like to have a darling?”

Trey hesitates for a brief second before continuing what he was doing. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

“Well, I’m prepared for a loaded response.” You reply with a laugh, “ But honestly, I don’t really get the whole mystique. You guys seem so normal, so why do you feel like you need to do this? Can’t you just find love the normal way?”

You can hear Trey sigh, turning back towards you and wiping the flour from his hands, despite the trepidation on his face, he still gives you an awkward smile before saying. “It’s a lot more complicated than you think.”

“How so?” Your understanding was pretty poor of this whole situation, a little clearing up is much appreciated.

“It’s hard to explain to someone that doesn’t understand it, but…” Trey mulls over his words carefully until he finds the right ones. “Imagine feeling like you have a missing part of yourself your whole life. And that missing piece is something that stops the world from feeling dark and gray, as if it makes the whole world feel alive. From the moment you’re born, you’re born with that missing piece carved into your heart and no matter what you do in your life you can’t do anything to fill it.” So it’s like being born with depression, which honestly sounds awful.

“It’s easier to handle when you’re a kid. You don’t notice it as much, but it gets worse and worse as you grow older. It’s as if the hole gets bigger and bigger as you age, and it makes your life harder and more painful to live. The worst part, it never goes away. Not until-”

“Until you met your darling.” You finish putting two and two together. So whatever causes the yanking “But why do you even feel that way?” That’s the thing that I don’t get. Maybe because I’m from a different world or something, but I don’t get why people are so…. strange? odd? when it comes to love.”

“This might not be the answer you expected, but no one really knows why we feel this way. All we know is that no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, nothing but our darlings can feel the hole in us.” That’s a disappointing answer, but what can you do about it? Some things about this world you might never understand, so maybe you’ll figure it out on your own. Or maybe not at all, sometimes remaining ignorant is better.

“Thanks anyways.” You can’t deny that it was a little useful in understanding your situation. If someone is born with a hole that can only be filled by another, then you have no way of comprehending what it’s like to be like them, feeling an emptiness that can’t be filled for years upon years. It must be awful living like that, but that’s still not an excuse. No one should be forced to suffer to make someone else feel happy, because it’s not just unfair to the unfortunate victim to have their lives upended but it’s equally unfair to force them to be the thing that grants them joy. But it’s not like you can do anything about this right now, your survival is your first priority. So that’s why you speak without thinking, “Another question, do you… have you met your darling, Trey?”

“Hm? Well, it’s hard to explain but,” Trey ruffles your hair affectionately with his flourless hand, “Yes, I think that I already have.” Well, that’s comforting. If Trey has his darling already that gets rid of your preliminary unease. It’s nice to finally feel relief.

“Well, I hope you treat them right. If they eat like this, they’ll be lucky to have you.” You praise, pausing only to wipe a smudge of flour off his cheek. “I know that I would.”

Trey’s eyes widen a smidgen, a brightness visible in them even from behind his glasses, “I’ll keep that in mind,_______. Here.” He hands you another one of his

“Can I?” When he gives you an affectionate nod in response, you accept the offered spoonful, humming from the sweetness on your tongue. “It’s delicious…”

“I’m glad you like it.”

You shove his shoulder, “Seriously, why are you so good at baking. Sometimes I wish I could stay here and eat like this forever..” You whisper, feeling the comforting feeling of peace finally filling you after some turbulent days. Sure, you don’t mean it, but it would be nice to-

“Then you should, ________. I can always make an exception to allow you to stay the night.” You hadn’t expected Trey to hear you, but now you feel a little discomfort wedge itself in your peaceful feeling.

Still though, you don’t want to ruin your good feeling. “Nah, I’ll think I'll be fine. Thanks for all these though, it’ll help keep Grim off my back for a while.” You scoop up Grim off his now empty tray of desserts. A hasty but polite good-bye and exit wouldn’t be the best way to end the day, but as you turn to leave you call it the second best way to exit this increasingly awkward conversation

Trey stops you with a tight grasp on your arm, your heart skips an uncomfortable beat, “I’m serious, ______. You should stay. ” That tense and dark look is back in a way that makes you feel so much smaller. If it hadn’t been for Trey confirming that he had a darling already you probably would have dropped the boxes he’d given you. Is everyone going to flip-flop between normal and strange today? Maybe it’s just you being on edge but this feels a little odd.

“That would be nice, but I think I’m going to call it an early night tonight. I’ll try to stop by tomorrow?” You refuse, trying to tug your arm free.

Probably sensing your rising unease, Trey releases your arm replacing that discomforting look with that gentle big brother smile. “Well, nevermind then.” He ruffles your hair affectionately, sparing you one last glance at that comforting smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, _____. Rest well.”

You balance the boxes of warm pastry in your arms, feeling the comforting warmth throw the cardboard. “I will th- Grim stop it!” You redirect your attention away from Trey back to chaos bringing Feline that’s no longer attacking the stacks of warm uneaten food in your arms.

“Myah! C’mon, Henchman! Gimme!” Despite Grim’s snacking, his stomach always remains full. You roll your eyes as you let out your peals of laughter, glad to deal with this rather than any of the things you were stressed about.

“Bye Trey!” You hastily bid him adieu, before turning all your attention to your annoying feline friend.

Even with Grim trying to snag another treat from the box, you can’t find yourself to be mad at him instead laughing as you’re forced to play keep away with the boxes. Sure, you can’t predict what will happen tomorrow but with the day you had assuaging your own fears, and setting new boundaries, you felt like you would sleep well tonight. Maybe tonight, you could sleep peacefully as you live in this new world.

Maybe things would be alright after all?

What's Right is Wrong.

Today had been a long day, but not long in the way of you being completely and utterly exhausted from stress and sleep-deprivation. Instead of heading back to Ramshackle quickly in order to avoid being out after dark and whatever horrible things can happen in that dark night, you can walk calmly back, humming in contentment as you balance the boxes of baked goods in one hand, whilst fighting back a hangry Grim with the other.

“Gimme!” Grim orders, as you fight off one of his paws in an attempt to stop him from devouring all them, box and all.

“No.” you scold. You’ve grown used to Grim’s constant and seemingly never ending hunger. And you were happy to have this be the biggest nuisance of your day, considering the other terrors you could have dealt with. “You can wait till we get back to the dorm.”

“But I can’t wait till then!” Grim whines again. Still fighting your one free hand with a warrior’s fervour. You laugh as you try to make it back to the dorm without him eating any.

“Yes, you can! Just wait.” You say with a warm laugh, content with the day’s happenings behind you. Today, all in all, was a great one. Calm, fun, and borderline sane. Maybe you were too doubtful in this world. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were-

“Hey! Watch it!” a gruff voice gives you only a seconds warning before they slam into you so hard you fall back onto the stone pathway hard on your butt. The boxes you were balancing collapse onto you like an avalanche of dessert, the not good kind, sending the sugary stickiness of syrups, frostings and glazes onto your skin and clothes and poor Grim. You can’t help but think that voice is familiar.

“Ow!” You groan in pain, wincing as the sticky sensation on your skin along with your new bruises. “Hey, Watch where you’re-” You look up to see the two delinquents from a couple days before. Both now dirty with the remains of the destroyed and smashed pastries. And they seemed to recognise you. “Shit…”

The one you bumped into growls as soon as he recognises you. His eyes lit with anger, and his face morphs into an ugly scowl,“Hey, wait a second… You’re that bitch that broke my yolk and had Spade beat us up!” You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you brush off the destroyed treats sticking to your clothes.

His lackey pipes up. A bandage is wrapped on his nose where Deuce punched him. “Yeah! You got our noses broken! And now, you’ve dumped your shit on us!”

Grim immediately spits back. “We didn’t do anythin’ to you! You bumped into us!”

They turn their anger onto Grim, “And you still have your mangy rat!” You can feel your face heat in anger.

“Grim’s not a rat!” You clamber to your feet and step in between Grim and these numbskulls. “And let it the fuck go, this entire fucking mess started over an egg. This is the stupidest thing to get mad at!” But these idiots have skulls as thick as steel. And you can see their faces turning red just like Riddle’s from anger. And then the redness subsides. The one that started this whole mess, lets a cruel smirk cross his face before nudging his lackey.“Hey, wait, she's all alone. Her bodyguards aren’t here.” An unnerving chill goes up your spine.

“Yeah…” A cruel grin crosses the second delinquents face. “She’s all alone.”

You take a cautious step back, preparing to snatch Grim and run. You’re already outnumbered and they have magic on their side. “Don’t you fucking dare.” You try to threaten. “If you put a hand on me, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Grim snarls, “Yeah! Stay away from my Hench-!” but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the first delinquent kicks him harshly into the rose bushes. You can hear a pained yowl as he’s thrown into the brambles.

“Gri-!” Your yell of concern is cut short as the second one punches you in the jaw, hard enough to send you back into the mess of food on the pathway and to make you groan in pain. Before you can even sit back up, the first stomps on your back to hold you down while the other slams his foot into your face. You can hear an audible crack through your skin, forcing a cry from your throat, “Gah..” Blood oozes out of your nose and you feel as if you can’t breathe.

“There! Now ya nose matches ours!” One of the bullies boasts, but you’re too delirious to recognise which one. To rub salt into the wound, something wet lands on your cheek. You cringe in disgust when realising that one of the assholes spat on you. “You better stay out of our way, or you’ll regret it!” The two bastards both give you a kick to the gut before they walk away, talking all cocky about their successful beating of a disadvantaged target.

“And I helped your sorry asses,” You mutter, wiping the saliva off your cheek, before you check on Grim, “You okay?” Grim shakes off the remaining food residue, and you check him over for wounds. He’s fine, thankfully.

“Myah… I shoulda cooked ‘em.” Grim grumbles, “Shoulda make them fear the Great Grim!” You can’t help but nod in agreement. He should have cooked them, it would have deserved karmic justice. “Come on, henchman!! Let’s go get ‘em!”

Grim nearly takes off like a rocket in his attempt to get his much deserved vengeance but you catch him by his tail to stop him. “Wait, Grim!”

Grim looks completely baffled, “Myah? Wha? Weren’t we gonna make ‘em pay?”

As much as you’d like for Grim to claw their eyes out and cook them alive, if Grim gets expelled for fighting, you’ll lose your roommate and have to sleep alone at night. And while you can’t say that, you know how to get him to listen to you. “Grim, what will happen if you attack them, they report you and you get thrown out? How will the Great Grim become the world’s strongest mage if he’s thrown out? Is that what you want?”

“....No..” Grim deflates as he’s forced to accept that you’re right. “But I wanna make ‘em pay, henchman!”

“We will in the… the pathetic way.” Snitching is the most pathetic way you can get back at them, but you don’t exactly have the luxury of a choice here. “We’re gonna tell Riddle, so he can punish them and we can go clean up.” Grim keeps grumbling, but he doesn’t argue against it. You sigh, wiping away your nose blood with your sleeve but it continues bleeding, and you hiss as your sleeve touches it, the bastard definitely broke it. “Great, and this day was going so well.”

You basically stomp all the way back to Heartslabyul, you and Grim grumbling annoyed all the way and getting looks from the residents from your messy appearance. You yell out for someone to find Riddle right under the threat of extreme violence, before storming to the lounge to find your friends so you could vent out your frustrations. You can’t find it within yourself to care about what anyone thinks of you right now. As your anger boils underneath your skin, you storm to Ace’s and Deuce’s dorm, ready to curse out their existences with your friends until you feel better.

“____-” The playful smile that formed on Ace’s face as soon as he saw you falls just as quickly when he sees the state you and Grim are in, “What the hell happened to you?!”

You plop yourself onto Deuce’s bed, not caring for the stains you're probably leaving on the furniture and instead caring about letting out the rage boiling within you. Considering that he makes space for you with a concerned expression, you don’t think he minds. Pissed off you vent, “Those two asshole delinquents are what happened!! They attacked me again and broke my nose!!”

“They what?” You can hear the icy coldness of silent rage in Deuce’s voice, the anger just barely restrained, and with how tightly his fists are squeezed, you can hear the sound of his knuckles cracking. Just like the last time, he confronted those bullies.

But you’re too blind with rage to consider the negative outcome of this could result in. “AND they spat on me!!” You continue to rant and rave, spilling out every detail that provoked your ire.

Grim jumps in to recount his own attack, with the same amount of anger and vitriol that you had. “Yeah! And they kicked me!!”

“They did WHAT!? The angry snarl in Ace’s voice is lost on you, but the anger on their faces is too apparent for you to ignore. Ace looks as pissed as he was when Riddle insulted you, and Deuce looks as furious as he did when those jerks threatened you the last time.

Deuce gets shot up from his seat next to you like a bullet, his face twisted in anger and his fists shaking with rage. “I’m gonna-” It’s at this point, clarity comes back to you for a split second. Quickly, you cut Deuce’s threat off, “NO. Deuce, sit down.” Deuce complies immediately, sitting back down as fast he stood up. It would be funny if the situation was different, but a different situation this is not. “I am going to take care of this the correct and fair way. And Deuce, I’m not having you end your honor student stuff so early.” You can see the rage dissolve for half a second at your concern, but it rushes back as fast as he remembers the slight you’d face.

“But-” You silence Ace with an upset look.

You hiss as you accidentally aggravate the break in your nose, before continuing, “Look, Ace, Deuce. I’d love for you to kick the crap out of them to make me feel better… but I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. You both aren’t going to go unpunished for kicking the crap out of them like before.” You pout after finishing that statement, picking a few frosting covered pebbles out of Grim’s fur, before adding. “No matter how much I’d love that.”

You can see the conflicted look on Deuce’s face, “I never should have attacked them then… They wouldn’t have attacked you if I hadn’t beaten them up so badly…”

Ace looks like he feels the same guilt, but he looks more mad about it. “Yeah, or you shoulda found us so we could walk you back. Then this would have never happened.”

“Look, it’s too late now for any of that. I just-”

At that moment, the person you want to get your vengeance for you finally arrives. “I came as fast as I could, where is she?!” Riddle all but breaks down the dorm’s door in his haste, with Cater hot on his heels. They both recoil in shock at the state of you. Cater even drops his phone out of shock.

Cater recovers the fastest, “Wtf, happened to you?!”

Riddle’s shocked face goes flaming red in a matter of seconds, but despite that, he manages to calm himself long enough to speak without screaming like he did the last time he got like that. He sighs in dissatisfaction before saying, “Here, let me fix that for you.” With a flick of his magic pen, a warm wave of magic washes over you as the bones in your nose crack back into place and the pain subsides.

“Thanks, Riddle.

“There, now…” You can see the red rise back into his cheeks as his anger returns full force. “What exactly happened?” You can hear the anger burn in his voice.

“Two students from here stomped on my face.” You can see second by second the shock in his eyes vanishes and is replaced with anger. “I don’t know their names, but they're from Heartslabyul. Riddle, can you do anything to punish them?”

Riddle snaps out of his shock at the mention of his dorm, “I’m sorry, the people who attacked you are from this dorm?” You can see red creeping up his cheeks, his face turning red from fury, glad to know that the anger is shared among all the people here. (Once again, the reason why doesn’t click just yet) “Do you happen to know who they are?” You can hear him grinding his teeth together, at least he’s trying to restrain his temper.

“I fucking wish.” You wish you did because you’d be fully prepared to storm to their dorm and let Grim burn it down, “But when you find them, and I know that this is kinda counter-productive, please be that mean and ruthless tyrant again while you punish them, I’m half joking, but seriously make them pay for this….” A part of you can’t believe that you were actually saying that given everything you’d gone through to get him to chill out in the first place, but you’re too blind with rage to think otherwise.

“Wait a sec, I might know which POSs’ did this to you.” Cater’s phone is back in his hand, hand clenched so tightly around his phone, the screen might crack under his grip. “These them?”

Cater flashes his phone screen at you, and the sight of those two cocky bastards smiling unbothered by the crimes they committed against makes your blood boil at the sight of those two losers again. ‘Yep… that's them.”

Riddle snatches Cater’s phone from him, and his scowl deepens further once he recognises them. “So these two are responsible for breaking rule 810…” You take note of the unknown rule of the Queen of Hearts, the elusive rule 810… Considering how little you know of the Queen of Hearts’ rules, you can’t help but be a little curious. But considering how sticky your clothes are getting, you don’t really care that much.

Cater’s usual upbeat behavior returns as fast as it left. “Hey, ______. How about I take you to get some new snacks from Trey while Riddle, Acey and Deucey go deal with those two walking Ls , yeah?”

“Wait, I can't stay?” You actually feel disappointed about that, you kind of wanted to stare down at those losers like they did to you.

“______ can’t stay?” Ace seems to share your sentiment, looking equally confused as you were.

And Deuce as well, “Shouldn’t those two face _______ and Grim so that they can apologise?”

“It's for the best if _______ doesn’t.” Riddle explains, “The dorm punishment for d- pardon, fighting is a lot more strict than you think it is.” Well in that case maybe it's best you go. If it's anything like the whole tart nonsense, then the punishment might be more ridiculous and outlandish than satisfying. Though you note Riddle’s odd correction of speech.

“Alright then…” A wave of exhaustion settles over you, all thanks to those two imbeciles ruining your day. “Look, at this point I honestly don’t care about what happens to them, just punish them and make sure that they don’t bother me again. I’m gonna go.” You ‘re ready to leave and chalk this day up to a loss. You feel exhausted and mad from all the wasted desserts being tossed onto you like random garbage.

You expect them to argue against that and try to stay with you….

“Sure, I guess.”

“Alright.”

…But they don’t. Maybe they’re doing it to honor your earlier request or it’s just them wanting to see the two that beat the crap out of you punished as soon as possible.

Either way, you’re too tired to care.

“Cool, well Grim and I will see you all tomorrow?” You bide everyone goodbye, but there’s a pit in your gut, informing you of a very bad feeling. Maybe it was just that kick to the gut……

* * *

The dorm kitchen is missing a lot of the warmth it had fifteen minutes ago. There’s the residual sweet smell from earlier, but the contentment you felt earlier was crushed as swiftly as your nose was. Trey notices you and Cater as soon as you enter, but whatever positive feeling he probably had at your return is swiftly crushed as he notices the bruises, blood and the food mess covering you. “What in the Twisted Wonderland happened to you?!” He’s less angry and more concerned than the others had reacted, instead focusing his energy on checking your injuries.

“Two POSes kicked the crap out of her, that’s what. Invoked rule 810.” Cater’s voice lacks all of his usual peppiness as he says that. “Riddle’s handling it.” There’s a strange emphasis on the ‘handling’ part of that sentence.

“Is that so?” Trey’s eyes fill with a dark glint, his voice deathly grim, before it switches back to his concerned big-brother and he sighs, “Right now you need some first aid, ______. I’ll be there to help in a bit, Cater.”

“Aw, don't worry Cay-Cay will make sure they pay-pay.” Cater squeezes you into a good-bye hug. You accept it, return it, but you swear that the look in his eyes doesn't match with the smile on his face. Like instead they’re filled with bloodthirst rather than sympathy. “TTYL, ______.”

Riddle’s magic has fixed the break, but the soreness lingers. Plus, your face is spotted with purplish bruises from the beating you took. Trey helps you treat and patch up the small cuts and bruises. His face looking way too guilty from Trey hands you a pair of ice-packs which you accept gratefully, pressing one to your face and the other to Grim’s stomach. Hissing as soon as it touches your bruised skin, you can see Trey slightly wince from the pained noise. “Th-Thanks… To think this was a nice day.”

“I have something that might help make it less… bad. It might not be much but…” He steps into the pantry for a moment returning with another box smelling sweet of the cool treats. “Here, it’ll make your night a little better.”

“Y-You don’t have to…” You say, partially meaning it. Your nose being fixed was pretty much all you needed and the treats were a wonderful bonus, but you remember him telling you he couldn’t spare much else. Why the sudden change?

“After everything you've been through, you deserve something to make the rest of your day a little better. Here.” Trey hands you another box filled to the brim with nice-smelling treats, just like the last one. Albeit they do smell sweeter than the last ones.

You accept the replacements with a smile, only to suddenly remember what he said earlier, “Wait, I thought that you said all of these were for someone’s birthday?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Trey replies, ruffling your hair affectionately. “ I’ll worry about that, go and get cleaned up. ” You bid Trey a thankful good-bye, and turn to leave just as Grim jumps into the box to snack on the replacement treats. Grim takes up the most of your attention as you depart. Too focused on Grim’s eating habits to return it back to Trey. Though as you leave, you can swear you heard Trey mutter something under his breath, “He’s never going to get them after all.”

The Queen’s Ax.

“Seriously, Grim?! Did you eat them all?!” Back at Ramshackle, after you’d cleaned up and changed clothes you’d returned to the dusty living area to find that Grim had nearly eaten all but one of the treats Trey had given you. “Those were for both of us!!”

“Myah… The Great Grim should never have to share his food!” Grim protects the last slice of a tart with his entire body, trying to hog all the food as per usual. “It’s mine, Henchman!”

You raise an eyebrow at his fit, “Oh really, then I guess I won’t open your tuna anymore, so you don’t share your food…” You can see Grim growl, but he extends the last slice out to you in defeat. “That’s what I thought.” You say with a teasing smile, before stealing it away from your pouting roommate.

You take a large bite out of it, but as soon as you take a bite out of the slice, though, Grim yawns with his eyes dropping out of sleepiness. That was fast. And isn’t it kind of early for him to be so tired? “You okay?” Grim’s head seems to become too heavy for his body, as he starts to nod off.

“Nnn… I’m fine…Henchman…Zzz.” He falls asleep mid-sentence, curling up into a small furry ball on the couch.

You set the tart down to poke him with your fingers. And he’s fast asleep. You’ve seen him drift off quickly in class, but when it comes to food especially Grim is wide awake. But maybe he’s just tired from the attack, you should probably get him a blanket or something. It’s been a long day after all.

You spare a glance to the half-eaten tart, thinking of finishing it on the way, but you decide against it heading for the blanket. You could always eat it after. “If you’re tricking me so that you can finish it, I’m putting you on a diet, Grim.” You threaten, but Grim is so fast asleep he’s snoring. He’s definitely not faking it.

You spare a thought to why Grim is so tired as you climb the stairs, because this is not the first time he’d fallen asleep like that. It’s odd, that he could be completely awake one moment and fast asleep the next. You’d gone through that the other day, so why-

“What the..” Your vision swims and sways as you cling onto the banister for support as fatigue hits you like a brick to the forehead. Despite the exhaustion, you can’t help but feel that this feeling is very familiar. Still, you try to shake off the exhaustion, muttering “What’s….. happening….. to…….”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Your legs start to feel like noodles and you collapse, tumbling down the stairs backwards, slamming your head onto the hardwood at the bottom. Pain floods your head and the world goes dark.

* * *

“--____?!” Someone’s shaking you, aggravating the blinding pain stuck in your mind like your head hit the bottom steps. Your head throbs as you open your eyes, and you hiss from the light stabbing your retinas. Despite the pain, you can see two blurry figures staring down at you, voices far too loud for your pain filled mind.

You manage to grasp the person shaking you and forcing their hands off so you can adjust. Light and sound burn your mind like a white hot flame. The colours here are way too bright and even more garish and overly saturated. Wasn’t it dark out when you got back? Why is it suddenly so bright?

<Miss? Please!> The voice of a young British girl sounds so familiar, yet far too loud. You remember feeling your legs suddenly becoming weak, and your head colliding with the bottom step before you passed out. But why did you suddenly pass out? Your body starts to be jerked back and forth again, and you can feel the blades of grass tickle your face as something shakes you. <Please! We need to go!>

<_____, we don’t have time for this! We need to move before she finds us!!> Two arms wrap around you and pull you off of the grass, and in response to that you thrash, trying to shake them off of you. With how much pain you're in you can’t help but fear the worst, something clearly bad had happened or was happening. <Please, don’t fight me, ______! The Queen might find us soon!>

At this point you recognise the voice trying to move you. With some difficulty, you open your eyes to find a very skittish looking Winston and a very scared looking Alice. Wait, why were you back in wonderland? You didn’t do any of what you usually do when you travel here. “W-Wait, what am I doing here?” You leave out the ‘where am I’ despite where you woke up being so starkly different. You squint at the too bright colours of the surrounding environment, instead of the Queen of Hearts palace or its extravagant rose garden, you’re in a giant, and way too over-stimulating meadow.

All the flowers and mushrooms that are way too big, bright and cartoony grow to the size of houses, mirrors, none of which like yours, grow from the stalks and stems. One the ground is an unkempt and overgrown path of giant pebbles. The too-vibrant colours overstimulate your battered brain, making the agonising migraine worse.

Winston barely gives you any time to gather your bearings, yanking you back to your feet despite your condition. Winston practically yells as he explains, his hands are shaky and clammy on your arm. With your vision no longer blurring, he is the perfect picture of panic.

You wince from the noise, with it being too much for your tender head. “Be quieter please... And slow down.” Winston takes a breath for what has to be the first time since you got here. “Now explain, what's happening?”

<I'm- We're going home.> He locks his hand around the frightened Alice’s in that moment, but you can still see him shake. <You were right.I can't take it anymore! Every second I spend with her, walking on eggshells, trying to keep her bloody temper from beheading anyone who looked at her wrong. And…> Winston’s ranting turns into manic muttering to the point where he doesn’t even pause to take a breath between words. Unlike his hot-tempered ‘wife’, Winston practically turns blue in the face as he regailes the nightmare he put up. His anger and grief come out in screamed rambles, as he speaks about the woman he ‘married’ with enough rage filled hate to make you worry about him having a stroke.

“Winston? Winston!” It takes you your second try to get him to be quiet and listen to you. And even then he looks like he’s on the edge of a panic attack. Maybe letting him vent in a more controlled way will help him out. “You’re spiraling, and Alice and I need you to focus.”

Winston takes another deep breath, still trembling. <R-Right.>

“Now, calmly tell me what you and Alice were doing before you saw me. If you can't, maybe Alice can?”

Winston fidgets to relieve his discomfort, before nudging Alice to explain for him as he tries to calm himself. <We were going to the locked door. His Majesty said that he fell into wonderland like I did, and there was a locked door that led back home just like the one I saw. He said it’s the only way out of wonderland.>

Okay so there was an exit. That’s a good start. “How are you sure that it’s the only way out?”

Winston interrupts Alice, gently pushing her forward on the pebbled path. <Alice, how about you walk ahead of us, you’ll be able to spot the door first.>

You and Alice give him a look of confusion. Alice tries to object, <But- >

But Winston leaves no room for her to argue back. <Go.> Not pushing it, Alice reluctantly runs up the path, leaving the two of you alone.

Despite that, you have questions of your own. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d left here before? Why are you still here if you know how to leave?” If it was possible to leave this world, to the point that Winston had done it earlier? The only reason you’re still stuck here is because you don’t know how, if he did, why didn’t he use it to leave long before this?

But you can’t help but wonder, was it a point of shame to him? That he’d left once and his return doomed him? The way his face falls as he struggles to find the words tells you that was the truth. <It’s…. It’s complicated.>

If that’s the case, you need him to explain. If he hadn’t seen the signs as fast as you had, you couldn’t really blame him for it. You try to sound as soothing as possible, “Well, un-complicate it. Just explain, I won’t judge you for it.”

Winston shifts in discomfort as he stares at his feet, <It’s a long story.>

You squeeze his shoulder in comfort. “We have time.”

A little defeated, Winston sighs before explaining.

“You’re a writer?”

<Was. Back then, I was a free-spirit. I liked wandering around and losing myself in nature, and that’s how I found the white rabbit.>

“You met the white rabbit, is that how you came to wonderland?” The difference in how you arrived stands out to you. If Winston came to Wonderland the same way as Alice, then what caused you to get here? NRC probably didn’t exist as a school back when Winston lived, so the Black Carriage didn’t bring him there. Was the magic in this world just selective on how people from earth were brought here?

<Y-Yes. I remembered it talking so I followed it to a stump with a large hole. When it went down, I tried calling out for it, and then crawling after it….> Winston’s face flushes with embarrassment, <And then… falling after it.>So when Alice had said that she and Winston had come to Wonderland the same way, she wasn’t wrong. But you could understand a little bit of the embarrassment considering you walked right into a strange magic carriage. <The only difference between Alice’s story and my own is that I passed out during the fall.>

“You passed out?” You had lost consciousness when entering the black carriage, so the fact it happened to Winston and not Alice feels just the slightest important. No way that was something to casually ignore, right? “I-I passed out when I got here, did you notice anything different once you got here?”

“Flowers?”

<Roses. The forest I was in was full of red and white roses, so I had picked a lot of them and I held onto them when I fell… If it’s helpful, there was one unique one out of the bunch, a black rose. I’d never seen or heard of one before.> Was that the connecting piece? Something strange occurring in a magicless human life? That left you with more questions than answers.

“Maybe. But back on topic, how did you meet-” You suddenly try to start but even before you say her name you can see Winston freeze up. “Winston? Are you-”

Winston quickly interrupts you, “I-I’m fine.” He quickly lies, with the paleness on his face telling you the truth. “When I fell here, I didn’t know where to go. And like Alice, I got lost in this place. I-I couldn’t help it, I was so… fascinated by this place.” He stops walking to spare a quick gaze over the giant meadow. “Once I looked at this place with wonder, now all I feel is misery….”

You squeeze his shoulder in comfort, “You’ll be out soon.”

Winston sighs, “ I met Mary for the first time shortly after I got out of this meadow. Went down the wrong path and squeezed myself through the rose bushes, to find myself in Mary’s garden during an unbirthday party.” You hear him curse under his breath as he kicks a rock on the path, <Should have never trusted that bloody cat.>

“Cat?” There was supposed to be only one cat that could have led him astray. The Cheshire Cat?”

<Who else?> That confuses you. The cat had helped Alice no problem, but had sabotaged Winston? <I asked him for directions, and he’d told and I quote ‘ someone will slink into your life, yes, someone strong enough to whisk you away from all those dreadful little worries... if you don't lose yourself first, of course.’ I didn’t have the luxury of choosing against that, so I took him for his word.> But that sent him right to the Queen of Hearts garden, and to the person who replaced his worries with a big new one.

<And because of that I accidentally crashed the unbirthday party and… met Mary for the first time.> The anger fades to be replaced with sadness.

“I’m so sorry.” You’d dealt with enough of Riddle in his tyrant days to know that that was a recipe for disaster. “She probably lost it.”

<She did. And screamed at the card soldiers to capture me so it could be ‘off with my head’ but I thought quickly… Remember the roses?> you nod in reply,

“Did it work?” Winston nods glumly, “Then why was that bad?”

<B-Because, the bouquet had a black rose in it, remember? Turns out they’re extremely rare here… Mary calmed down instantly and accepted the roses, saying something about it being the most precious gift she ever got. And then she just commanded the guards not to remove my head. I was so relieved that I didn’t care about why, and when the Queen announced she would house me I just thought she was doing it as an apology for overreacting.>

Maybe you would have been suspicious if you weren’t aware of the situation like Winston had, but either way you couldn’t really blame his judgement. Winston had unintentionally done something super romantic to the Queen to escape her wrath. Even if you think that the Queen is deluded, you can’t deny that what he did wasn’t very romantic, even if it was what he did to save his own head. “It may have saved your neck, but I think you may have made her swoon.”

<I know… But I didn’t notice that at first. After she calmed down, she apologized to me for threatening to remove my head and offered to help me when I told her that I was having trouble getting home. She even let me attend her party and shared her favorite tart with me.> You’re struck with a wave of deja vu. Riddle had done the same with you earlier that afternoon, and he didn’t even mind that you, really Grim, ate most of it. <We may have also shared the fork, and I didn’t notice the intimacy of it until much later.>

“So you unintentionally had a first romantic date at her unbirthday.> You don’t want to blame that on Winston, but you can’t not believe that this has happened and started the mess that snowballed into the hell Winston would one day live in. You are also reminded that you’d also done the same thing with the fork, rather spoon, once with Trey in the dorm kitchen.

<I didn’t mean to, I was just being foolish. But back then, I thought nothing of it. And that probably was the worst mistake I ever made. It wasn’t all bad at first. She might have been overly touchy and affectionate back then, but she didn’t stop me from trying to find my way home as long as I spent time with her.> You couldn’t blame him for that either, looking back on what you had done today. Even if they are your biggest threat here, you did seek companionship with Ace and Deuce. You’d even humored Cater, hung out with Riddle and Trey… had, no, were you making a mistake?

“But, you found a way out right? We’re heading there after all.”

Winston nods, <It took a while, but yes. It’s a door at the edge of Wonderland. It’s the only way out of here I believe.>

“And you’re positive it works?” It working now is obvious, because Alice has to find her way home. But it needs to work for you because if it doesn’t you’re as good as trapped. “Completely sure?”

<It better.> Winston gives you a gentle smile of reassurance. <I’ve used it before and it better not fail me now. As far as I know it’s magical, but it needs a key to work.>

“Key?”

<This.> Winston withdraws a chain from under his shirt, revealing a bronze key with a big red jewel. It’s starkly detailed and clearly unique, the gem reminds you of the magic pens that Heartslabyul students use. <As far as I know there’s only one in existence. I took it from the door back when Mary first captured me. I didn’t want to risk it being destroyed.>

“But you’d used it before.” If he did, why come back? This world isn’t exactly paradise and considering he was nearly killed on his first day in this ‘Wonderland’ there was no reason for him to come back. Unless, he came back for- “You didn’t come back here for inspiration, right?” Winston’s silence tells you all you need to hear. This world is an author’s dream come true.

<I’m sorry. I-I was just so intrigued by this new and odd place, I wanted to stay and explore it more and more. I wanted to escape my boring world and enjoy this extraordinary one. So while I was testing the way out, Mary suddenly snapped at me and asked me to stay with her for a while when I was about to step back home. It took me by surprise but she really persuaded me and I stupidly accepted.> Winston’s gaze drops to the floor, <I… I was really stupid back then.>

While his decision to stay here wasn’t exactly the smartest one in hindsight “You’re not stupid, you were just tricked. You know better now.” You try to reassure him.

But Winston’s mood doesn’t improve. <You don’t get it just yet. After I got close to leaving, she started to get really, really different. It was like she went back to the angry lady that she was when I met her. She was still touchy and affectionate, but her temper started to get bad. If I talked to anyone that wasn’t her, she would suddenly blow up…> You’re nowhere near what Winston had, if any of your… friends started to act that way you know at least now to run in the opposite direction immediately. You’re again suddenly reminded by your conversation with Ace and Deuce, when you’d asked them to respect your boundaries and how fast they nearly broke it when you went to talk to Cater. But that was just a coincidence. Right? <But that time she blew up at me, telling me that she needed me more. I started to get a bad feeling then… but then there was the incident.>

You’re suddenly struck with a bad feeling, “What happened?”

You’re hit with yet another wave of deja vu. Your nose had been broken by two people because of an enormously stupid reason. And in your turmoil, you’d told the same thing (minus the killing part) to Riddle to punish them. With so many concerningly similarities, you’re pushed to ask, “And what happened to him?”

Winston’s face falls to that of grief, <He’s dead.>

You feel as if you heard him wrong. Didn’t he ask the Queen to not kill them? So, you ask lamely, struck dumb. “...What?”

Winston quickly checks to make sure Alice isn’t listening in on your conversation, before whispering. <M-mary tried to hide it from me, but someone led me to the castle’ punishment room, I got there in time to…. to watch him…. To watch him lose his head… I-I remember running away, but I don’t know what happened to the body. I don’t want to know. For breaking my arm, that was the price he paid.> His voice cracks with sorrow, still stricken with grief for the long dead.

“She… She had him killed?” You repeat. The Queen of Hearts was known for being a sadistic tyrant, so this wasn’t a complete surprise to you, but having to watch it is something else entirely. You’re unnerved at the reminder of your own discussion about the delinquents. Was something like this happening?

You quickly shake away the thought, the more you think about it the greater the chance it might manifest.

Winston’s voice is choked with tears. <I… I still don’t know why she did that. I was only angry because I was injured, and I thought they’d be removed from the court… I-I knew she was a little sadistic, but I didn’t think she’d kill them! I was horrified! And I decided to leave after that. I just couldn’t stay with a murderer. If she could kill someone for something so small, what would she do to me?!>

Considering how she’d gone from 100 to 0 to back to 10000, you can only see why this ended so terribly. You already feel like you know where this is going. “So you ran?”

Winston nods, <The magic door always had the key in it’s lock. So I just ran there as fast as I could, but somehow, she’d found out I was leaving! I don’t know who told her but just before I got there, she came, bright red and angry, screaming at the card soldiers to capture me. I tried to get away from her and the cards, but she caught me…> Winston visibly wilts as he recounts the tale of his capture and all you can do is pity him.

“That you’d proposed to her? But you never did that?!”

<...Exactly!> He agrees, outraged, <I told her I never did that, and she told me that since I gave her the black rose, I had proposed to her and she wasn’t going to let me ever leave, even after we were married. She even made it one of her outlandish rules. Rule 222 of the Queen of Hearts, Present a black rose to your sweetheart, and you shall be married, never to part. > You can only listen, horrified.

You didn’t know more than 20 of the rules of the Queen of Hearts, but you already knew that she was making her rules to suit her narrative. But now you can’t help but think that those rules came to be because of her desire to control Winston. Considering she pulled that rule out of nowhere to force Winston to marry her, what else had he been forced to do because of her rules. Winston continues his spiel, < I told her she was crazy and that I didn’t love her, and that’s when she lost it.She went red with anger and screamed at me that if I wasn’t going to stay willingly, she would make me. And then she had the guards take to the…> Winston visibly shudders, <The cell.>

You hate that that bad feeling doesn’t leave you. It worsens as your curiosity peaks, as you’re spurred to ask, “What exactly is that cell?”

<It’s a room… Hidden behind a wall in her bedroom. IIt wasn’t bad at first, but she left me there for two months. It was awful… dark, cold, too quiet, and the walls were thick. There were only small holes in the wall for air, but no matter how hard I clawed the walls, I couldn’t get out… I knew she could still hear whatever happened inside, all my tears and screams and begging….> Every word that Winston says to describe it looks like it visibly pains him to say it. <The only person I saw during that time was her and her alone.>

You shiver at the thought of being locked in a dark cell for that long with only someone horrifically obsessed with you as company, and that was only when she decided that he probably ‘deserved’ it. Talk about an effective punishment.<After two months in the dark, she told me that if I behaved she would let me out. I was so desperate to get out, I just said yes to whatever she said. And then the next thing I knew I was being held down at our wedding altar.> So, she’d used a cell to keep him hostage till their wedding was ready. The rule was just an excuse for her behavior. <I screamed at her that I wasn’t going to marry her. And again she was furious, but she didn’t lock me back in my cell, instead she threatened to behead all of the wedding guests if I didn’t go through with it. That’s when my nightmare started.>

“She threatened to behead people to get you to obey her.” You piece together. Winston’s right in calling it a nightmare. The idea of holding the lives of others over a person’s head was a tide and true technique to control someone. And Winston was just a normal person that dropped into a strange world by complete accident.

<Everytime I tried to rebel or disobey her, she would threaten to remove someone’s head. And if I ever did something she didn’t like she’d just make another rule for me to follow, and then threaten to cut off all their heads if I didn’t start following them. After a while, she started just beheading them when I was disobedient. No matter what I did things seemed to just get worse.> That sounds in character for the Queen of Hearts, creating and enforcing rules to keep someone in their place. The place that she wants him to be in. <After a while, she started enforcing those rules onto the card soldiers and her subjects, and executing them if they disobeyed them. I had to walk eggshells every day, every single day, worrying that if I stepped a toe out of line she’d lose it and even more people would die. A-And her rules would get insane! Don’t drink raspberry tea on Thursdays or don’t play croquet if it's the second week of Spring. And it got worse and worse. I-I did whatever it took to make her happy, because I spent everyday worrying that someone would die if I didn’t.>

The 810 rules of the Queen of Hearts go from insane ramblings of a tyrant to a calculating plan by a controlling monster in your mind. The rules are so outlandish that it made Winston go from someone rational and probably brave to someone who looked like they flinched at the sight of their own shadow. With so many impossible rules, there’s no humanly possible reason for him to make it a week without accidentally breaking them. And with there being permanent, horrible consequences for Winston and so many more innocents, no wonder he grew so afraid of his own wife.

<Before you and Alice got here, I learned to survive without upsetting her, but whenever someone else disobeyed her, she wouldn’t show them an ounce of mercy. I always tried to stop her at first, but after a while I just learned to stay silent.> <You could say I learnt my place. I hoped that if I waited a while I could find a chance to slip away, and I did try to run away… but it didn’t work and what really scared the hell out of me happened next. I-I…>Winston’s trembling is borderline quaking. You have to grab his shoulders to keep him standing.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You try to reassure him, and he shakes his head in an attempt to show bravery.

<N-No, I can do it. I-I never found out what happened to the remains of all the victims she’d executed. I’d mourned every single one of them, but Mary never told me what she did with them… W-When she d-dragged me back to the palace after I tried running away, she told me that if I couldn’t be upset leaving her behind, she’d teach me to fear ever leaving her again.> Dread pools in your gut as Winston’s breath becomes shaky. <A-And she locked me back in the cell, but…it was different that time… The cell was filled with… with heads.>

“What?”

<The… Their heads, all of the people she- all the ones who tried to stop me from escaping and all the people who died because of my disobedience, she’d thrown all of them in my cell and… and she said that if I w-wanted to be away from her so badly…. I could stay with them as long as I wanted.>

The discomfort from the pain in your head is replaced by the sudden and horrible nausea churning in your gut. The idea of being locked in a room full of rotting heads, of each and every one of the people who’d died unfairly because of your hypothetical actions must have been traumatising.

“Gave up?”

He clutches the exit key in his grasp, <I remember grabbing it on my second escape attempt, I was terrified that she might’ve destroyed it so I kept it and never took it off, but whenever I used to look at it I would feel so helpless. It was as if Mary had destroyed my desire to be free….> You can only feel sympathy. You might not have gotten to experience this to the extent of Winston’s trauma, but the idea of being controlled to the point that Mary nearly killed his desire to be free of her and Wonderland, it scares you. To be so destroyed, or rather to have his life controlled to the point he longer tried to escape, to be trained and tamed like an animal, it’s one of the most terrifying things you’d ever witnessed.

You and Winston walk in silence for a few minutes, the bright, sunny and colourful meadow doesn’t match the mood of the conversation in the worst way. Thankfully though Winston, suddenly but welcomely, smiles. It’s one that shows the scars of all he’d suffered but one that still has just the smallest thread of hope, one last thread, holding it and him together. <But I have to thank you.>

You’re taken aback by the sudden thanks, “W-Why are you thanking me?”

Winston wraps his hand around yours, despite it being a dream. He feels warm, warm with the new hope pushing him to do this. Smiling, he says, <Because I wouldn’t have gotten the idea to escape again, if you hadn’t appeared. Maybe all I needed was a harsh shove in the right direction. I don’t want Alice to be stuck here, or die here and even if I couldn’t save all the… the o-others… I’ll save her. I know I can.> Winston looks up at Alice who runs just a little further up the path, a warm, hopeful smile forms on his face. <Even if it’s just one out of hundreds of others, I’d like to save just one.>

Maybe it’s blind hope, or maybe naivete, but you're glad to see him smile genuinely. It’s different to see him at peace, even with the present anxiety of this escape. It’s a sign of hope for you. That maybe things might just be okay. Winston tucks back the key under his shirt, and his smile drops, <However I have to be honest… I have to go back there again. I don’t think I’ll be able to take it anymore- No, I’m not going back there.>

Determination fills you. You might not have done much, but if it saved Winston and Alice then maybe you’d done enough. And your reward would be the escape from your small nightmare. While you won’t make the mistake of staying here when pushed, you’ll be a little at peace knowing that you’d helped someone. Maybe that-

<Your Majesty!> Alice’s voice draws your attention towards where the now excited girl points at something just out of sight. She takes off running, now full of hope and excitement, and Winston chases after her, sharing the excitement of finally being freed from this horrible place. You lag behind, inspecting the surrounding area. If this doesn’t work for you because it’s a dream, you’ll need to find this place in present time. You just hope that this place still exists in the Queendom of Roses after all this time. Still, just like them you can’t help but feel excited in your own right. <______! Come quickly!>

Maybe this is a sign of better things. You yell back, “Coming!” and chase after them, and the genuine joy on their faces is a wonderful change of pace.

Nearly buried in the foliage, mushrooms, flower stems and tree bark is a door that looks far too small for someone taller than an 8 year old to fit through. It’s reminiscent of the one you saw back in the overblot world with Riddle. Minus all the ink obviously.

Alice jostles the door handle to check if it’s still locked. Which it is, though it doesn’t curb her excitement. <After all this, I’m- We’re going home.> She exclaims, peering through the tiny keyhole. She steps away with a beaming smile on her face, <Thank you, Your Majesty.> She curtsies in thanks, nearly shaking with excitement.

Her hopeful words make Winston smile. <Thank you too, Alice. And you too, _____.> Now much calmer, he withdraws the key from his shirt, unhooking it from its fraile chain. <Now let’s- >

A deafeningly loud screech drives the once peaceful meadow into an equally deafening silence. The three of you jump in fright, but Winston looks like his soul nearly propelled out of his skin. To your collective abrupt horror, his now shaking hands fumble the key, dropping it into the surrounding plant life where it vanishes completely from view.

The three of you stand there frozen, hoping for it to pop right up like a blooming flower out of the earth. Alice, despite her excellent manners, curses.<Aw, bloody hell.>

Well that perfectly describes this horrible situation. Winston whirls around and you follow suit, finding the opening in the path behind you, thankfully empty. But from the sound of marching inching closer and closer, it won’t be for long. Winston looks completely terrified as he not so gently shoves Alice into the giant blades of grass. He hisses not so quietly, his voice tense with urgency. <Go find it! I’ll stay here and stall her!>

<But- >

<GO!> Alice hurries into the blades of grass, with you following behind to help. You want to spur Winston to hide with you, but when you catch sight of the Queen’s flaming red face in your hesitation, do you realize that things might not end as easily as you hoped.

The Queen’s face is as red as cooked lobster and if it was any hotter her hair would catch fire. You hope the red smear on her face is jam from a tart. You pray that the red smear on her face is just jam. Behind her are dozens of card soldiers, marching in unison behind the Queen on a warpath. A hand presses against your back to shove you into the foliage, and you fall with a tumble. Your head, right where it burned, slams right into the dirt floor.

You just barely bite a cry of discomfort as your head wound is aggravated and your vision is blurred. Alice comes to check on you with the escape key in her hand. She opens her mouth to speak, but you manage to reach out and clamp her hand but you manage to reach out and slap your palm over her mouth, before she exposes her position to the Queen.

Thankfully, the plant life keeps you hidden from view, but obstructs your view of the Queen and Winston. You’re glad you did because you can hear her exhales of unrestrained anger as close and clear as a bull ready to charge. <Winston… Why… have… you…. LEFT ME AGAIN!?> Her roar of rage is so loud that it makes you and Alice fall over from the vibration of it coursing through the earth. But instead of her continuing in her tirade of unrestrained fury, he roars of rage dissolve into- <Do you not love me any more, Winston? After all, I’ve done to love and protect you?> tears?! You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from barking out how this was gaslighting at its finest. But unfortunately your self control doesn’t amount to Alice’s.

The girl looks like she’s struggling to keep quiet, outraged at what she’s seeing, and you wouldn’t blame her if it meant not revealing your position to the Queen that wants her dead. Because the Queen will flip like a coin back to infuriated if Alice suddenly pops up. “Shush, Alice.” you insist as quietly as possible.

Winston, thankfully, is experienced enough with this to not fall for whatever she’s plotting, instead he takes the gentle approach. <N-No, dearest. I-I just wanted to send the girl home. Nothing else.>

<Oh really?> You silently hold a deep breath, as she mulls it over, waiting for her to just accept the excuse and move on. For his and Alice’s sake- <DO YOU TAKE ME A FOOL, WINSTON! I KNOW OF THE KEY THAT HANGS AROUND YOUR NECK!> Your blood turns to ice as she screams so loudly that the ground shakes again and again. <HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME AND TRY TO ESCAPE ME AGAIN! HOW DARE YOU TRY AND LEAVE WITH THAT TREASONOUS BRAT!! I thought we were past this!>

All you can hear is a soft yelp from Winston, probably as she gets closer to him. Cornering him like she’d done every day of their marriage. He quickly tries to backpedal, <B-But I wasn’t trying to run this- >

The furious tyrant doesn’t let him get a word in. There’s a rustle of clothing, and another whimper from Winston. Probably from her holding him by the collar of his shirt. The next noise is muffled, and much sloppier. Your stomach churns in disgust as you put together that she’s forcing him to kiss her. She holds him there for far too long, and then her voice softens, becoming quieter as she says something that makes your blood chill.

Winston doesn’t even try to deny her anymore, too beaten down to continue making excuses or explanations. Instead, he sobs, terrified of what’s to come. <I-I’m sorry… Please just don’t send me back there… please.> The cell he mentioned comes back to your mind. Are the heads still there? Does he have to see them every time he’s caged there? Your gut twists in horror.

Unfortunately, despite claiming to love him, Winston is not spared an ounce of mercy. <Darling, you know my rules, and this is the only way you’ll learn. Guards!! Drag him back to his cell!!>

The marching of the card soldiers fills the air as they follow their queen’s order, preparing to drag him away from his only real escape. <N-No, please! Dearest, please!> Winston begs, like he’s about to be killed. He begs his ‘wife’, though captor is more effective, and he begs the guards. But none listen to him.

The Queen’s words stir horror and disgust in your gut. You want to throw up and cry at the same time. Because…

Because… this was your fault.

And now, Winston would only suffer for it.

Guilt fills your gut, as Alice manages to slip your hand from her mouth, her cheeks flushing pink from her own anger. The Key to her, his and your escape clenched tightly in her small hand, she stomps to the edge of the foliage. <W-We have to do something!> Realising what she plans to do, you instinctively snatch her arm and yank her back before she gets herself killed. Surprised, she objects, <Quickly, before he’s taken away!>

<Alice, no!> You grab her and cling to the young girl like a lifeline, desperate to save her life and her from herself. Should she attempt this, the Queen could stop her at any moment. Or kill her at any moment. After you failed Winston like that, you couldn’t fail him with this. <We can’t. They can’t see me, the queen wants to kill you, and I can get you home, please!>

Alice thrashes, <No, I have to help him!> You do your damndest to keep the stubborn child from walking to her own execution, cursing her childish impulsivity. You hold her as tightly as possible, but Alice jerks free in such a way that you fall back onto the rough and hard ground. Once again slamming your head, more specifically your wound, slams onto the dirt and stone. Every sense in your body slows down as your head throbs in agonizing pain, but you can still hear Alice yell, <S-Stop it!! Let him go!!>

Your vision stabilizes just in time for you to see Alice run back into the break in the meadow. Her one and only exit, your one and only exit, is trapped in her hand as she runs straight into danger. You scramble to follow her, but the pain ricocheting through your scalp leaves your limbs like soggy noodles.

<You let him go, you evil tyrant!> Alice shoves her way up to the dumbstruck queen, shoving an accusatory finger into the bodice of her dress, <You evil witch, how can you be so cruel and heartless! He has done nothing wrong and you do not have the right to do this to him->

<Alice, NO!> You hear Winston plead, trying to stop the girl from digging her own grave. Alice pays no heed to his begging, instead continuing her tirade while the Queen stays oddly quiet.

<You…> The Queen’s voice is ice cold in comparison to her burning hot fury. Her face slowly turns red as Alice falls silent, losing all her confidence as the Queen’s rage-filled glare centers on the girl and taking a few steps back in fear. <You! You’re the criminal!! GUARDS!! OFF! WITH! HER! HEAD!!>

At the sound of his wife’s damning words, Winston’s pleads for mercy turn into pleads for Alice’s life. <NO! Dearest, please don’t kill her!! I’ll do whatever you want just don’t please!>

The Queen ignores all of Winston’s desperate pleas, instead her eye catches on the key in Alice’s grasp, her pale face turning red in fury. <You vile little thing! YOU DARE COMMIT TREASON AGAINST THE CROWN AND NOW YOU TRY TO TAKE MY HUSBAND AWAY FROM ME!!!>

The accusation causes Alice’s blood to drain away from her face. <W-What?>

The Queen’s horrible and twisted mind puts together a horrible and twisted conclusion. <That’s why you came, you evil creature! To steal him away and leave me miserable! THIS IS TREASON OF THE HIGHEST ORDER!!! OFF! WITH! HER! HEAD!>

Within seconds of her murderous screech, the deck of soldiers surround the very terrified Alice. You try to stand, to run and grab her away to save her from death and Winston from further anguish. But your legs give out under you and your vision begins to shake and tunnel. Your thoughts slow. So much so that you can barely string together an adequate curse worthy of this disaster.

As darkness clouds over your eyes, you can’t help but hate the people responsible.

The Queen, absolutely. This horrible and twisted world, definitely. Yourself? You deserved it more than anyone else here. If you hadn’t spurred Winston to do this, maybe this would have never happened. Maybe Alice would have been free to run away by herself away from the Queen’s cruelty. Maybe Winston would be freed after everyone here rose up against the Queen’s tyranny.

So as Winston’s screamed pleas dissolve with your sight, you mourn your first ever victim. As you fade from the dream that grew into an utter nightmare.

Curiosity Kills The Cat

You awaken with a gasp. Though it turns from a gasp to a pain filled sob.

Blind pain fills your scalp, your mind clouded by the pain as you weep silently, shaking from your quiet sobs. Whether it was real or not, what you dreamed of was a nightmare. And as you lie in a pool of blood, cool and sticky against your skin, you can feel it mix with the saltiness of your tears.

You want to sob after you come to with a shaky gasp. Even as you sob, the universe doesn’t allow you any reprieve as you’re hit with a horrible headache. You don’t have the energy to cry, and only whimper as tears roll down your cheeks. You’d just ruined two lives. You’d pushed Winston to save Alice even when he didn’t want to, because you thought so naively that he could be happy and free if he helped her. By proxy, you’d pushed a child to her death, because of her sense of justice and her own childhood innocence where she thought she could save the person that was going to save her. And… and because you thought doing this would make everything okay.

Now Winston was being unfairly punished and Alice was in danger. And you were an idiot who was so hopeful, yet equally stupid. So you do the only thing you can do, which is cry. Your body is too sore to pay attention to your situation in the walking world.

Despite the blinding pain, you open your eyes to find the blurry interior of Ramshackle, your head resting on one of the bottom steps. You remember the dizziness you’d felt before you’d fallen, and the blinding pain you’d felt before you’d gone to Wonderland again. The pain is worse now, burning your head and the rest of your body even when you’re not moving.

You feel as miserable mentally as you do physically. So you just lie there in your own misery, content with just lying there for the rest of your life and staring off into space. Until you blink and a familiar face and a head of pink-purple hair with matching ears fades into view. “Hello?... Is it a greeting, or a warning of delightful chaos to come?”

Chenya’s upside down head purrs with an ear to ear smile, lying down next to your bruised form. His eyes glimmer with a teasing glint, as if he doesn’t know about what had transpired. And not with your dreams, according to the sticky feeling on your temple, you’re injured. So why was he so calm about that? Or was he enjoying it? It's hard to tell with Chenya.

“...henya?” You mumble, “W-What are you… doing here” Your reaction is more tame and confused than it would have been if you weren’t potentially concussed. Your head might hurt, but you remember that you had locked the doors of Ramshackle when you got back. So why the hell was Chenya here?!

Chenya hums, as his disembodied head ‘grows’ a body, laying down next to you. “Oh, not happy to see me, are you? Hmm... can’t really blame you—after all, you are lying in a pool of your own blood.” You’re not in the mood for Chenya’s mischief right now. Sighing in annoyance, you push yourself shakily upwards in an attempt to pick yourself up. Unfortunately, your arms give out halfway. You groan as your head connects with the floor. Again. Your own blood sticks to your skin. Instead of showing concern, Chenya still has his ear to ear smile, “Can’t stand on your own paws? Here.” A vial clinks to the floor, the label is blurry but in cartoonish handwriting read, ‘Drink me :) ’.

You may have had a lapse of judgement in the dream world, but in real life you’re not that stupid. “ ‘m not drinking that…”

“Aw, c’mon, it’ll help.” Chenya pouts as his ears flatten against his head. “I’ll even help ya~”

“N-” After you made the stupid decision to open your mouth in reply, he forces the uncorked vial into your mouth, and you’re too weak to fight against it. You're forced to swallow the unknown liquid, wincing as it burns your throat.

Now very angry, you force yourself to sit up with much more ease. Spitting to clear your mouth of the unknown fluid, you bark, “What the hell, Chenya!?”

“See~ It worked.” Confused, you check yourself over noticing the sharp pain has dulled and you don’t feel as sluggish as a sloth. So whatever he gave you was actually something helpful. But you just wish he hadn’t forced it down your throat. “No need to be catty, ______~”

“S-Sorry”, you say, a little embarrassed. You feel a lot better now, physically at least. But your mind is buzzing with worry, how did Chenya get in here? Your brain might be bruised but you're positive that you locked the doors to Ramshackle when you got back. “But, how did you get here?”

“So many questions, ______. I can go pretty much anywhere and everywhere.” So dealing with cryptic nonsense is what you're going to do after you just went through something traumatic and when you already have a migraine? Wonderful.

“That's… fine. Just go, Chenya.” You stand up, prepared to take a long bath to wash the sticky feeling of your own blood off. Seeing that nightmare exhausted you, and you don't have the energy to deal with more bullshit today. “Thanks for helping me out, I'll see you whenever.”

“Are you sure? Do you really want me to go so soon?~” He stands and you hate how he towers over you, leaning in close, and his feline eyes flicker with what has to be predatory intent as he speaks. You’re annoyingly reminded of that other beastman in the botanical gardens. Are all beastmen like this?

You push him away despite the numbing soreness in your muscles, “I-I'll be fine-”

“Not with that ugly gash you won't~” he teases, and you’re seriously considering punching him in the face now. Maybe that will get him to- “Trey really did a number on ya, huh?”

“Wait, what did you say?” While your memory had been hazy due the nasty fall you took down the stairs, you remember being completely alone with Grim and you remember feeling exhausted as you climbed the stairs, so the reason you fell had to be that you passed out from being so fatigued. How the hell was Trey involved with this?

Chenya looks at you as if he didn’t know what he just said, “What did I say?”

“Are you kidding me-” You bit back a sigh of frustration, “ You just said that Trey did a ‘number’ on me. W-What did he do?”

“Oh, you still haven't figured it out yet?” You bit your tongue to stifle the no-shit response you were about to spit in annoyance. “Well, I'll give you a hint. Three times you'd taken what he's given you, none the wiser to what's hidden within.” Your mind halts, and you freeze. “Oh? Seems you figured it out~”

And figure it out you did.

If Chenya’s hint held any water, Trey had… had drugged you with the desserts he'd given you. And according to Chenya, he did it three times. That part feels the most unbelievable because you hadn’t even noticed a difference. Sure, your exhaustion those three times were strange. But they all happened on days you had a lot of things happening that day, driving you to the edge of over-exertion in a way you thought was natural.

As you recall, the first time you were too tired to even walk or act like a functional human being was after you ate some of the chestnut tart way back then. You were so tired that Deuce had to carry you all the way back to your dorm and you were asleep before your head hit the pillow, but you'd just attributed that to you being exhausted from being tired from what Ace pulled the night before.

Then there was after Riddle’s overblot when Trey gave them to you as an apology for his inaction. You and Grim had eaten them and both of you were fatigued and ready to sleep in seconds. And now, Grim had eaten almost all of them and you'd taken only one bite out of one of them. The second time you completely finished one and the third time you'd only had a bite, but both times you'd become so exhausted walking felt like too much work.

Has Trey drugged you all three times? But how? Ace should have seen it the first time and said something, and if he didn't, how did Trey manage to hide it from him? Additionally, the last time you ate those possibly drugged treats, why did you wake up sooner than the last two times? Before you slept like a baby through the night, and now you wake up with the sky still as dark outside as it had been when you came back.

And the most baffling question, why did he even do it in the first place? You remember him saying something about taking better care of yourself, but you brushed that off and attributed that to him being concerned because you'd thrown yourself into a blot monster that afternoon. Was… was wanting drugging you under the guise of sweet delicacies so that he could ‘take care of you'?

You shudder at the thought of it. Winston was right in saying that they wouldn’t be upfront about it. Trey had played the gentle vig brother while drugging you thrice and it took Chenya telling you directly to your face for you to finally notice.

Wait a second. How did Chenya know that? You meet him only after Riddle threw you all out, how did he know that Trey drugged you the first time. “Wait, how did you know that he drugged me back then?”

“I always visit Trey on his baking days, I adore slipping sweets into my paws when no one's looking. Seeing you trying to help your little friends was just a nice lil surprise~”

So Chenya had just been ‘around’ way before you officially met him. Why he never introduced himself or anything is lost on you, but now isn’t the time to ask about that. Though you do mutter, “How did I not notice that…” One of Chenya’s ears twitches and then he laughs. It’s a good, hard laugh that makes Chenya’s eyes squeeze tight in glee. It’s not anything malicious sounding or mocking sounding, moreso cheeky but it sends the gooseflesh on your skin to prick up. It makes you ask, “W-What’s so funny?”

Chenya cracks an eye open, before chuckling. “No offense, but you're not as perceptive as you think you are. You don't notice a lot of things. Like what Trey, Riddle and the other three planned on doing to the guys who attacked you.”

What? “W-What do you mean?” You already know that you’ll dread the answer, but your curiosity was peaked. What in the Great, well given what you saw earlier not-Great, Seven did he mean by that?! You had hoped that with Riddle’s new outlook on the rules, he would have been slightly more lax with punishments. Was saying that you wanted him to go back to his old ways just for those two going to end horribly. Oh shit, what did you do!? “What did they plan?!”

A cheshire grin forms on Chenya’s face. “Nuh uh, no more help from me, _____!”

“B-but.. You just-”

Chenya purrs. His eyes full of mischievous intent worsening your bad feeling. “If you want to find out, you’ll have to go there yourself~”

You feel a cold feeling cover you, trying to envelope you tightly in its icy embrace. You don’t trust this one bit, and the chill around you feels as if it’s goading you to make a bad decision. “Go where? To… Heartslabyul?”

“Nope!” Well, now you were just confused. “Not to. Behind.” You fight the annoyed eye-roll as he just re-words it. Probably after seeing your annoyed look, he grants you the tiniest possible explanation. “There’s something special happening that might pique your interest. In the rose maze tonight some bad little students are going to be punished, and it’s where you’ll find the answers you want… Or maybe they’ll be ones you don’t. I’m not sure.”

You contemplate on that decision. You could either take his advice and go find out, or you could ignore this. You’re not really sure. If Trey had lied and betrayed your trust, had the others? All Riddle had told you was that they’d be punished appropriately, but he never explained what his punishment was going to be. Had they planned something behind your back, something you deserved to know?

And if this was just a prank from Chenya to get a laugh, were you really going to risk going outside of the safety of Ramshackle? Potentially jumping out of a frying pan into the flame of the dorm at night full of two, or maybe five people obsessed with you? Staying here would be your best option in that case, safe inside four walls you have control over. But what if what happened would endanger you in the future, making things infinitely worse for you?

You’re going to regret this either way, aren’t you…..

* * *

“You can do this, _____. Let’s get this over with…” you mutter, stepping out of the Hall of Mirrors and into the cool summer air. The Heartslabyul dorm in front of you, the lights streaming out of the windows being the only thing that illuminates the dark, cloudy night. Every step you’d make in the direction of Heartslabyul feels like a mistake that you were sure to continue making, but even with your frayed nerves, your curiosity had gotten the better of you. “You still there?”

“Certainly~”, Chenya’s bodiless head fades back into view. “Shall we~? The longer we dawdle, the closer your chance slips, slipping, slipped away~”

You’d left Ramshackle with nothing but a dull kitchen knife tucked under the waistband of your clothes and a prayer. And also Chenya. Coming to Heartslabyul in the dark, cold night, with all your logic and self-preservation instincts already telling you to go back to your dorm and calling this night a net loss. Chenya was supposed to be, emphasis on supposed to be since you had no idea on whether or not he was even there when he wasn’t visible; right next to you with you occasionally feeling the ghost of a feather-light touch on your skin. With so many half-assed precautions, you had one question in the back of your mind.

And the question you wanted to have answered was, Were you friends, all of the people you’d once hoped to have a strictly platonic relationship with until you got home, as bad as the Queen of Hearts?

You had Winston’s words in the back of your mind, recalling his own recount of the day he accidentally got someone killed when he requested his assaulter be punished fairly.

<M-mary tried to hide it from me, but someone led me to the castle’ punishment room….>

At this point, your subconsciousness was starting to mimic your reality all too much. While it was marginally appreciated for what good it did you when dealing with Riddle’s mental breakdown/overblot, with what you saw and heard from Winston, the very idea that your friends would commit murder was one that filled your mind with fear and dread.

It wasn’t only because of the idea that two people could get murdered over something completely pointless, or that you might have unintentionally killed two people; but the idea that your friends could be murderers over something so pointless. If that was what they were prepared to do over something so minimal, what would they do over something drastic?! What would they do if you had made the choice, and mistake, of rejecting them, or running away where they couldn’t find you?

With all those thoughts in your mind, you were willing to confront the risk. Even if there was a chance that your curiosity would prove to kill the figurative cat, you'd only know that if you went. So, into the belly of the beast you went.

“Hurry up and fade away, I don’t want anyone catching us,” You order, shivering from your rising anxiety and the chilling air. The cool chill of the summer night sends icy chills up and down your spine as you sneak, hopeful that none see you or the disembodied head, into the darkened maze.

Despite the fact you already committed to it, you already are regretting this decision. Sure, you’re being led by Chenya’s directions, but the rose maze is dark, barely lit by the small garden lights sparsely scattered here and there, and it’s full of twists and turns and dark corners that make you feel like someone’s going to jump out of nowhere and-

You take a deep breath and lightly slap yourself, with how suddenly the Queen of Hearts appeared out of nowhere where you felt moderately safe with Winston, your already frayed nerves are very on edge. “Stop thinking like that, me…”

“Aww~ Is something gnawing at that little mind of yours~? Do tell, I simply adore a good dilemma~”

“I can’t really- I haven’t really told anyone about it.” Because it’s so crazy to think about, being throw into another world with it’s fucked up morals by pure happenstance and then being thrown into another world, the past mind you, that shows you how the world got so fucked up, “You probably wouldn’t believe me.”

“C’mon, try me. You might be surprised by what I believe~”

You debate it. There could be something to gain from you, telling someone else. “W-Well-”

You’re interrupted by a loud “GAH!” of pain echoing through the bushes, followed by the disgusting sound of bone crunching and splitting, now followed by another cry of pain. Someone that you have a feeling that you sort of know, whimpers like a wounded animal. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you advance, hiding in the opening of another of the maze’s passages….. and finding something you hoped not to see, but expected.

You have to bite your tongue hard to stifle the noise you almost let out. You taste warm blood spill upon it, and at the sight you saw, and you barely hold back your bile.

Ace and Deuce are walking deeper and deeper into the maze, which is barely illuminated by what has to be a phone's dim flashlight, dragging two bloody human shaped lumps that you called your attackers. You stumble back and clamp a hand over your mouth before your gasp of shock and horror.

The two delinquents are alive? They have to be considering the noises they’re making but you could have been fooled by how bloody, swollen and bruised their faces are. Their clothes, likely the same ones they beat you up in, are stained with their own blood. They look like they were beaten half to death. You have to swallow back the other noises of horror and shock.

Hadn’t you specifically told Ace and Deuce to NOT do this!? Why had they done this, beating two people half to death after specifically telling them not to?! And what the hell were even doing out here?!

In your spiralling, you accidentally step back onto a random, and incredibly inconvenient dry twig. The snapping is so loud in your ears you feel like it echoes across the whole world.

The time it takes for Ace to look over his shoulder in just enough time for you to duck behind the wall, and you can only hope he didn’t see you in the time you took to hide. Unfortunately the rustling of leaves gives you away. Your blood freezes as soon as you hear, “What the hell was that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something’s moving in the bushes.” There’s a loud thump as if Ace dropped the delinquent he was dragging, who groans weakly as his battered and bruised body hits the grass. “Stay here, I’m going to take a look.” Whatever Deuce said next doesn’t meet your ears as all you can hear is the blood unfreezing and roaring in your head as adrenaline floods your veins. You’re frozen stiff and unable to move. What if they find you?!

Your mind slows to a screeching halt. Your adrenaline is freezing you stiff rather than pushing you to run. Your body feels like it’s stuck in the ground and held by cement. To make your already high blood pressure shoot to the cosmos, an arm wraps itself around your waist and drags you into the darker depths of the maze. It’s Chenya, your racing mind provides, and you send a silent thank you into the air as Ace sticks his head into the hedge walls. To your utter relief, he doesn’t seem to notice you.

Which is good. Because you were too busy noticing the most horrifying part of seeing him.

Ace’s expression is nonchalant as he stares into the darkness searching for you unknowingly. The face of the first human friend you ever made here stares right through you. And they look calm but suspicious, looking fine with the smudge of blood staining his skin and his uniform. Even in the dark you can see the tell tale colour of crimson, smudged on his face as if he tried to wipe it off at some point but there nonetheless and from the moans of quiet agony seeping through the hedges that hide you from view. His hands are bare, and the skin on his knuckles are split and bloody. Your gut sinks with despair.

“Anything there?” Deuce’s voice drags you back to reality, but doesn’t help the new influx of adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Ace steps away from the opening in the wall, disappearing back into the maze. You have no choice but to release a much needed sigh of relief. “Nah. I must’ve imagined it.” You hear the sounds of Ace yanking up that poor white haired delinquent, the groans of pain filling the air in a higher pitch, the steps and sounds of dragging fill the silent summer night, before fading into darkness.

“Oh, mew almost got caught… Curiosity almost killed the cat, Nya?” You ignore Chenya’s words, pushing yourself back up and into the opening of the maze Ace had just been standing. After getting no response, he then asks, “Are you still curious, _______?”

“A little.” You swallow roughly, hoping to force the discomfort filling you back down. You could always cry it out later, and your curiosity demands you learn the whole scope of this. All you have to do is follow the trail of blood in the grass and dirt. No pressure…“J-Just warn me if anyone comes close.”

After seeing Ace’s face stained with another person’s blood, your heart has lodged itself into his throat and you can’t stifle the curiosity, so you and an invisible Chenya trail after them, a quiet distance away. You can hear the noises of pain from the two and their pain filled pleas as you follow, but their noises only earn more fists or kicks to their already bleeding faces and their beaten bodies.

Trailing after them yields fruit in your worrying venture, as you follow Ace and Deuce and their two victims to a large, well-lit, opening in the maze. You move to follow them but-

“I’m aware that I let you have your way with them but at the very least, either of you could at least tried to not track blood through the garden!” You freeze in your steps at the new, but unfortunately painfully familiar, voice. It’s Riddle’s.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist."” Ace’s nonchalant reply is what finally sells running away for you.

Out of all the things you weren’t prepared for upon coming to a world that you didn’t even know existed until a couple days ago, you weren’t prepared to watch someone actually die. Not today, not ever. “I’m leaving” you hiss, careful to not raise your voice loud enough to let your voice be heard.

But like a monkey wrench thrown into the works, Chenya's head reappears, his Cheshire grin back and more unsettling than it was before. “Aww, but you came so far are you going to turn back now?” You genuinely don’t even know. You want to leave, remembering the early horrors you'd dreamt of and already seen, and you can’t help but feel that maybe it's time to make a tactful retreat. Time to go back home to Ramshackle and forget this night ever happened, and hope that the two people are potentially about to die in whatever cruel way they might and somehow survive.

“I-” Chenya, for some reason seems hellbent on you scarring yourself for life. You’re starting to feel a little bit like Winston in a bad way…..

Because once again like an idiot, you let him guide you to an opening in the hedges large enough to peek through but small enough to not draw any attention. Your adrenaline and fear induced curiosity was going to be the death of you it seemed, because as you peek through a tiny gap in the hedges, you have to instantaneously recoil.

Your friends are here, obviously you already knew that, but it was the new things that struck a chord of terror through your heart. Sparkling from the light of the maze’s lanterns and the moonlight is an ornate executioner’s block with a bright red, heart-shaped axe. It’s clean of blood, but something tells you that won’t be for long.

Alongside that, you can see the complete and utter destruction that Ace and Deuce rained on those two people’s bodies. Their faces are beaten and bruised to the point their eyes are swollen shut and crying blood, their uniforms are dirty with red and brown, red from the blood and brown from the mud their bodies had been dragged through like garbage. You feel remorse and self-hatred for being the one to cause this from your angered ravings.

You manage to tear your attention off your rising panic and back to the conversation you’d tuned out in your fear. You tune back in, right in time for Riddle and Ace’s argument to dissolve. “Regardless, you certainly did a number on them.” All Riddle gives that unfortunate pair a raised eyebrow of disgust as they groan.

Cater looks a mix of annoyed and bored as he stares down at the two on the ground, pausing only to snap some pics of their beat up faces for a reason you can’t fathom. “Hey, just wondering are you guys going to just keep stalling or are we actually going to murder them?”

Trey looks as sick of the two innocent people they’re about to behead, and you can’t even connect how cruel he looks now to that same comforting warmth from earlier. “We might as well, the sooner we’re done with them the sooner we don't breathe the same air as them.”

The white haired one manages to find the energy to raise his head. His face is so swollen and bloody, you wonder how he even found it to begin with. You can’t help but pity him, as he looks up at Riddle in confusion.“D-Dorm Leader? Why-”

Riddle doesn’t give them a moment to figure out whatever is going to happen to them. Instead of answering the victim he chose to torture like this, Riddle recites the charges of their crime with such nonchalance and coldness that you’re reminded of the tyrant he used to be. “You both will be punished in accordance with Rule 810 of the Queen of Hearts: Should someone try to take one’s most precious person, by theft or by harm, they should pay an unpayable price.”

Your heart leaves your throat and pluments through your gut and deep into the ground. Hadn’t Cater explained that rule was one of the most important rules the dorm had? The one rule that was strictly enforced even before Riddle’s arrival and tyranny? He hadn’t told you the details, but you assumed it was something about fighting and picking on the weak or something borderline rational.

Then again, Riddle had told you that the rule was amended after an incident. An incident that you likely had just bore witness to. And if your memory served you well, it was the last rule she ever made. Had Winston’s escape, believed to be caused by Alice, caused the original rule to be changed?

The two delinquents' eyes, whichever ones weren’t swollen shut, widen in utter horror. The white haired one makes a desperate plea to save his own skin and you let out a silent prayer hoping it works. “We didn’t hurt her that badly. W-We’re sorry!” The apology does nothing to calm the silent, boiling hot fury among them. You already know that even if they give those unfortunate two the ‘privilege’ of receiving a reply from them, the next words out of their mouths wouldn’t be one of forgiveness. As you predicted, a chilling silence follows.

Now realising their pleas aren’t working, the red haired one musters the courage to speak and try and plead his case. “B-But we didn’t–” But Deuce doesn’t even give the luxury of finishing his sentence, smashing his fist into the red haired one's face so hard you can hear the loud crack of their bones breaking. When all you can hear and muffled groans of pain you come to the horrified conclusion that Deuce broke their jaw.

Your once determined, hard-working, if a little bit dull friend only wipes the blood that stained his face without a modicum of empathy. Even from here, you can feel the silent fury that emanates from him. Anger that you once encouraged.

“L-Listen Dorm Leader, we’re sorry. We won’t do it again. Just l-let us go.” The one still able to speak begs, but you can’t see even the slightest bit of hesitation on even one of your five friends' faces. You once hoped to hear those two words from those two after they’d appropriately learned not to mess with you. But instead, you hear them say it as the rest of their lives look much shorter than any of them could have wanted.

Riddle’s strict and cold look is just as he did when he was the Dreaded Crimson Tyrant he was a few days ago, just like you’d asked him to be again. Instead of sparing them. “I would tell you to learn something from this, but you won’t be able to do much of anything in a few moments.”

So they’re dead. They’re going to die…

You want to will your body to do something, to run in there and intervene, or get help or just stop the madness about to happen. But you know that you can’t, no matter how much you deeply want to.

Because revealing that you knew about this ‘secret’ is what got Winston a life of hell with his wife. You’d see the results of Winston’s revealing what he knew and the disaster that it gave Winston after it shattered the illusion of delightful companionship for the Queen, and sent his life into a downturn. And that precious illusion was one that the five of your friends were attempting to maintain, likely for their benefit and your suffering. The lie of a free choice was what would keep you rooted to the ground as the twisted show continues on before you.

The execution begins, as Trey takes the axe from the block with ease. The sharpened blade sparkles in the moonlight. The gentle, comforting big brother visage is gone as Trey hefts the axe over his head, Cater holds down the unfortunate and visibly terrified delinquent. You can feel every muscle in your body brace for impact.

A clean swishing sound fills the air followed by the sickening gush of blood and the crack of bone makes you squeak in terror. Silence follows, and then the quick, panicked grunting of the still living one realizing his inescapable fate. The first had lost his head, you don’t want to look at it. Tears prick your eyes as you struggle to stop yourself from bawling from the rush of fear and horror.

And unfortunately for you, a noise loud and clear in the silent garden slips from your lips. You panic, quickly smothering the sound as fast as you can. But you can hear the silence in the execution grounds.

Followed by a loud, animalistic shriek of pain as Deuce punches the still living one clean across the face, smashing the already broken bones into dust under his fist and knocking out the poor man’s teeth. “Be quiet.” Deuce hisses so coldly that it makes shiver and tremble.

You’re thankful that they only heard it as a pain-filled noise from the still living victim, for all of three seconds once you put together that his suffering is increased because of the noise you made. You just kept making it worse for them, didnt you? One’s dead now because you had said too much and the other keeps suffering because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. This just keeps getting worse.

“Hey wait a sec.” The sound of Ace’s hesitation makes your heart swell with hope. Maybe this wasn’t going to end as badly as you thought it was. It was horrible, and deeply devastating that an innocent person had to die first but by comparison one death was still better than two. “Let me get rid of this one.”

You spoke too soon. Damn it.

“Hm? You wanna off this one? Why tho?”

“I was sort of powerless when these douches popped up the first time. And now, ______’s got her nose broken. ” Ace's usual carefree tone voice drops to a tone of ice cold rage. “Let me do this one.”

Deuce is still so angry that his face doesn’t show how hurt he was that he couldn’t protect you like he did earlier. But even from here you can see how he’s a little angry with himself that he allowed you to be put in harm’s way, you feel the same for a different, more justifiable reason.

There’s silence for a few minutes, then Riddle says, “Fine, I’ll allow it. Trey.” Trey hands the ax to Ace, and you can watch the smile you once had thought was playful turns malicious. Trey instructs him as you try your damndest to tear your eyes away from the innocent victim that lies stuck as the other eyes of this sinister court prepare to witness his final moments.

The poor delinquent’s head is strapped into the same bloody leather cuff that his friend died in, and despite whatever pain he’s feeling, you can hear the pained whimpers he’s letting out in an attempt to plead for his life. He’ll be paid no heed.

As Ace lifts the ax, you manage to tear your eyes away from the hole in the hedge, squeezing your eyes shut and clamping your hands tightly over your mouth, you’ll hear all the noises but maybe that’s what you deserve. At the very least, he doesn’t get to have the one that sentenced him see him die. Maybe it allows the other one to die with dignity. Or maybe not, because you didn’t even know their name.

You flinch as the next crack of bone. And then, bite back a miserable sob as the wet ‘shlick’ of the axe cutting and slicing cleanly through muscle and other tissue echoes through the air. And then gasping in between silent sobs as the thud of the axe on the executioner’s block and the heavy thud of the head falling off the stump and metal rattle of it hitting the metal bucket. You fight the urge to shriek in terror horrified by the noises of death being mimicked unwillingly by the second as you hear the thump of a head rolling free of its neck a second time.

Another innocent lost. If your heart wasn’t beating so fast, and you weren’t struggling to keep quiet so hard maybe you would hear what they were saying clearer. You hang your head in your hands, and whimper as softly as you can. You don’t know how long you sit there.

A sound resonates as if Riddle’s lifting the head to appreciate the handiwork of his punishment, before the head falls back into the bucket with a heavy clang, “There, _______ will be happy to know they’ve both been punished appropriately in accordance with Rule 810.” You aren’t, and if someone told you thinking that, you would have ran for your life, “Now all that is left is to get rid of the remains.”

“Oi, why do we have to do that?”

“Shut up, Ace…. The sooner I don’t have to see them the better.”

Despite Deuce’s words, Ace doesn’t shut up, “Geez, you’re still such a tyrant, man…” Despite becoming a murderer, Ace still jokes and acts like a smartass, choosing to ignore the fact he’s probably still holding a murder weapon.

You hear Riddle’s sharp intake of breath, “I should-!”

“Ah ah ah. If ______ finds out you punished me unfairly, I don’t think she’ll like you very much. Don’t want to risk that, do we?” You honestly would have just handed him over, considering mischievous and playful Ace just wacked someone’s head clean off with an axe because he just happened to hold you down as the other beat you up. Or maybe you wouldn't. Your mind is too much of a mess right now.

You can hear the tiny grumble of Riddle’s as he’s forced to be silent for the sake of you, and you only pray that Ace actually doesn’t get murdered for even insinuating that he’s important to you.

Trey jumps into peace maker probably to prevent Riddle from actually killing Ace this time. “Hey now, we all agreed that we’d discuss our…. situation in the morning.” That was certainly a word for it, having five people you barely knew obsessed with you to the point of killing someone because they broke your nose. “While we all hate our unfortunate circumstances surrounding ______,” You can hear the veiled anger and discontent in Trey’s voice as he says that. “We all agreed we’d figure it out in the morning.”

“Let’s be real, that’s if we don’t go full feral and tear each other apart first. No matter what we pretend to agree on, we all want her for ourselves. And honestly? The tension is palpable.” You hate how honestly and darkly Cater says that, you hate how the crime scene of a murder somehow got darker when you became the main subject. Of course, they talked about you. Of course, they all realised at some point during their collective anger at the delinquents that they all believed that you were somehow collectively their darling.

What would happen if they literally killed each other over you, would you maybe wake up to find one or more of them suddenly vanished.

You can hear Trey’s sigh of annoyance, “We’ll deal with that tomorrow. Right now, let’s get rid of…” There’s a soft thudding sound as if Trey is kicking the remains of the delinquents with his shoe. “them”

“Trey is correct. While this situation is less than ideal,” The darker emphasis Riddle adds onto those final three words sends another shover down your spine, “we will have time to discuss this in the morning. For now, let us be rid of the remains, before the maze is overrun with vermin.”

“And since you were so delighted to emphasize your role as ______ ‘favorite’” Once again, you can hear the anger and jealousy in Riddle’s voice as he drags that final word out, “ you wouldn’t mind cleaning this mess all up? After all, as her ‘clear favorite’ handling this must mean the words to you.”

Maybe earlier today, you would have laughed at Ace getting properly put in his place, now you can only feel numb. You can’t even laugh at Ace's noise of indignation, or at Deuce’s snarky statement, that he was on his own. There’s nothing you can enjoy.

Especially with the sounds of heavy unliving flesh, being maneuvered like garbage into the burlap. The noises made as the bucket of human heads are emptied into the sack. You can only shudder as you bite your lips bloody to prevent another sound from leaving your mouth.

What is there to do now? Two people are already dead. Do you just slink back to your dorm, like you weren’t even here tonight, and go to sleep like nothing happened?! Like no one died or begged for their lives.

You can hear the shuffling of the burlap cease, and Deuce asks, “Dorm Leader, what exactly are we going to do with the bodies?” Bodies, because they’re no longer people. Because those two delinquents are just objects to be thrown away now…

“You’ll just bring them to the shed where we keep all of the garden’s supplies. While these two might have been lousy students have even lousier morals,” What a hypocritical thing to say after ordering two people to have their heads cut off. “At the very least we should be able to get some decent quality paint and feed out of them.” What the hell… what the hell did that mean?!

An “I don’t get ya.” from Ace doesn’t even begin to match your own scared curiosity.

“What Riddle means to say, “ Trey interjects to explain, his voice calm as if he hadn’t just cut someone’s head off and instructed Ace on how to do it, “is that we use the remains, to make paint for the roses and food for the hedgehogs. For some reason, they really like the meat.”

You have to choke back bile along with your tears. Disgust joins the pile of horrible emotions churning in your head and now in your stomach. Oh, sweet seven had Grim eaten human flesh when he ate the hedgehog food. You squeeze your eyes tight, begging to wake up from this nightmare, but you aren’t and now you have to choke back another wave of nausea.

“Ah, alright, that’s…. What, we do what?!” You’re too numb from shock to be happy that Ace agrees with you on the utter horror that the remains are used for such disgusting things.

And then Cater makes it worse, “FYI, we have full creative freedom with corpse disposal. This is our dorm’s time-honoured tradition. Yeah, it’s nasty but you don’t have to like it, but you’ve gotta deal with it. And the other dorms have way worse disposal methods. BTW: do not piss off anyone in Savanaclaw unless you’re tryna become someone’s midnight snack.”

How could you have forgotten that crimes like fucking murder was legal on this island. Stomach acid burns the back of your throat. It’s like the longer you stay, the more you were punished for coming here in the first place. Why didn’t you just stay where you were?!

Whatever else they say becomes unintelligible to your brain, your mind too high on adrenaline to make sense of whatever they said. Because you can’t stay here any longer. You just can’t, just sitting here alone in the dark hearing the drip by drip of blood pooling onto the stone and grass.

With violently shaking hands, you clamber to your feet like a baby deer on their legs for the first time. Despite the shakiness, you run as fast as you can back into the maze, internally praying that no one heard you. You don’t care where you run.

Anywhere is fine when it’s far from the two people you are responsible for killing.

* * *

Running aimlessly through a maze with the current racing heartbeat of a frightened gazelle and a head full of panicked, terrifying and agonizing thoughts, is in hindsight not a good idea.

You would stumble and fall half a dozen times, as you followed the trail of your victims’ blood back through the maze. The now dry blood didn’t stick to your shoes, but it might as well have. It wouldn't have been split if not for you. On one of your falls the icy chill of the knife would press lightly, but still too deep, slicing your skin slightly but enough to make you bleed. You slapped a palm onto the now bleeding wound, and kept running.

What else could you do?

You had just seen your ‘friends’ gang up on two injured people and just killed them, and were preparing to desecrate the remains of those two just to ‘make it up to you’. If you had just kept your mouth shut, none of this would have happened.

You run all the way back to your dorm, trying to force down your tears and nausea, hoping that this was just a nightmare that you would wake up from…

No such luck.

As soon as you’re back in the ‘safety’ of the dorm's gates,you tremble violently. Every breath you take makes your chest stutter, as if every gulp of air in your poor lungs felt like it was your last. You felt like collapsing, dying even.

The haze of your thoughts become clear again, like fog parting and fading away. The two delinquents, two innocent people who committed a crime not worthy of this kind of punishment, were murdered because you decided to not keep your mouth shut. Were going to be turned into literal paint and animal feed, because they had the gaul to lash out against you. Were punished….just like Winston had told you…..just like Winston saw.

You feel like you’re having an out of body experience, You want to be sick. Bile rises into your throat and burns the tongue. Your friends’ smiling faces are stained with innocent blood in your mind. Disgust, fear and guilt course through you to the point it numbs you from all else. Your legs turn to jelly and they buckle as you spiral.

You fall onto your knees, still in that grieving, self-pitying daze. The nausea finally gets to you and you retch, throwing up violently into the barely living bushes of Ramshackle. The sight of torn flesh, all that blood…… you spit whatever excess stays in your mouth as you fight to control your body’s functions.

“Oh, how curious~ Seems you didn’t like what you saw?~” Chenya’s voice sounds from behind you and you turn in time to find him standing over you as his body fades back into view. You’d forgotten he was even with you. He pulls you off the ground and into his arms. After all the stress and fear whirlwind you just experienced, you cry softly in Chenya’s warm embrace. You want to ignore him, as he keeps talking his cryptic nonsense but- “See, mew really couldn’t take it, hmm? Just think, if you’d never gone poking about, you wouldn’t be trembling at the thought of your friends~” -your mind slams into a brick wall as you realise something.

You pull away from the no longer comforting hug, to ask, “W-Why didn’t you do anything?” Chenya tilts his head as if he’s confused, so you clarify, “Y-You were with me the whole time… I-I know that I asked you to stay hidden but… couldn’t you have tried to save them? Y-You could have tried to, right?”

Chenya doesn’t respond to that.

His face blank of any of the mischief or his easygoing nature that it had a moment ago. Your gut twists in new anxiety, another dose of realization hits you at his silence and what Winston had said to you back in your dreams,‘~someone led me to the castle’ punishment room…~ Had that someone been the Cheshire Cat? And had you made an even worse mistake by trusting him to begin with!?

Your heart beats like it’s about to fail, and you try to pull away from Chenya’s hold completely but he holds you still. Now both panicked and infuriated, you scream in outrage, ““Why didn’t you do anything? You could have tried to help them out at any time. Why……Why didn’t you?!”

As if realizing your own realization, Chenya’s expression changes back to the complete opposite to how you feel. Carefree, unbothered as if he wasn’t there to watch two people beg for their lives, he finally answers with a now terrifying look on his face. “Heehee, ‘cause they’d have chopped me to bits, you curious little thing~”

“B-but you’re Riddle and Trey’s friend, they wouldn’t-” Shit no. “They wouldn’t….right?” You’re praying to whatever gods this world has for you to be right, Chenya only tilts his head with a thoughtful expression for a few agonising moments.

“Nah, they would. Riddle would chop my catty little head clean off, and Trey would make me into pie if they found out I showed you that.” He smiles all too calm as he says that. His tail swishing peacefully from side to side as if nothing is wrong.

“Then why did you tell me to go?!” Chenya was the reason you even went here to begin with. If he had told you about what they were planning, you never would have gone there to begin with.

But Chenya doesn’t answer. “Then why!?” You yell.

Chenya gives you a cheshire smile and an equally eerie laugh, which feels as small and helpless as a mouse in a mousetrap. “Didn't ya say that you want your friends to protect ya? Didn't ya say that you want your friends to be honest with ya? I only did what was right, and what you wanted. I peeled away the curtain, revealing the truth! Even showed you how dangerous they allare~ Isn’t that exactly what you wanted~?.”

“What the hell are you-” You’re immediately struck with the reminder of your earlier conversation with Ace and Deuce when you hoped that they would now be honest with you. Because you wanted to feel safe. Chenya can be invisible. You felt the same feather light touch gracing your skin in the rose maze, he was there. And he heard you when he was invisible in the garden. “You were in the garden….earlier today”

“Mh hm!” Chenya nods excitedly. “Heard you wanted your friend to be normal, and I’m not normal. So I hadta make sure that you wouldn’t ever see them as normal again. And I like you. And, and I want you to like me! Did I do a good job?” He tilts his head playfully, like a cat trying to curry favour.

Realization hits you in a cold wave. Chenya’s…. “You’re like them…” He's obsessed with you too, like they are.

“Uhm mhm.” Chenya hums with a nod.

And suddenly, his arms are around your waist holding your face uncomfortably close to his. “But don’t worry, I won’t hurt ya. Or anyone else, I’m not allowed to kill anyone like everyone at NRC.”

You try to shove yourself away but your attempts prove fruitless against Chenya's strong arms. “L-Lemme go.” He shakes his head. “Let me go!” you say more harshly, struggling your hardest to pull away and get out of his reach.

“Nuh uh.” Chenya’s grip on you is tighter as you fight to get away.

With no choice and adrenaline coursing through your blood affecting your judgement, you change tactics. “Why me? Why me out of all the people in this world”

“Because you feel right. Holding ya makes me feel like my soul is whole again. And you smell nice. Better than alla Trey’s food.” To emphasize his point, Chenya buries his nose into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath, sighing in satisfaction as he pulls away. “Yeah, and better than all the flowers in all that shop back home”.

You remember what Trey said about darlings. Like being apart from them is like the other half of your soul is being torn from your body. But five, well now six, can’t be in the slightest bit normal, even for this world.

Chenya keeps talking. “Following ya was fun. Especially since you smell so nice. You don’t even notice me.” How long was he following you? When did he start following you?!

“How-” He shushes you before you can finish your sentence.

“Don’t worry about how, how is the brother of why and the cousin of but. And cousin but says you don’t hafta to be a darling for me to love ya, _____.”

“What….but I thought-”

“We just call you guys that because you mean so much to us. Darling or not, we’ll still love you.” Chenya pauses for a split second and you can feel your heartbeat boom so fast in your ears in anticipation that it’s deafening. “But no offense, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your mind scrambles as you struggle to comprehend the mess of what you’d been told. This web of confusion gets worse the longer you spend caught in it. “But….why? Why are you all okay with killing someone if it means I’m safe or yours?”

“Because.”

“W-What?”

“Don’t think I didn’t wanna get rid of them too. They made your pretty blood come out.” Chenya’s cat-like eyes narrowed predatorily, “I wanted to watch them suffer.”

But you didn’t. Not to this extent at least. You just wanted them to regret it for a little while, not having them live to regret it for what would be the rest of their short lives.“I-I need to do something, anything. I-” you stammer. You need to do something, need to tell Crowley or something, anything else!

Chenya cocks his head to the side in confusion, and that mischievous glint in Chenya’s eyes becomes backlit by a dark expression. “Why? Do you feel bad for ‘em?”

“Yes! Why the hell wouldn’t I-” Once again, Chenya interrupts you. Again, he brushes off your righteous anger and sadness.

“You shouldn’t, wasn’t it what they deserved all along?” He boops you on the nose, smiling as he justifies the brutal murder of two innocents, “They went and smashed your poor nose after all. Forget about 'em.”

You’re struck dumb from shock. The complete void of human empathy that he, no, that all of them have is just horrible. And the fact he’s trying to convince you out of it is gut-wrenching. But no matter what he, or anyone else would or could say, you… just feel terrible. Because this feels like it was entirely your fault.

Two people had been brutalized because you in a fit of rage ranted and raved about them being punished to the fullest extent. You had just been angry. The worst thing that you thought was going to happen was something somewhat logical and fair. Like them being suspended, or being forced to do the dorm’s hardest and most back breaking of chores. Not getting fucking murdered! Those two might have been complete assholes, but even complete assholes don’t deserve to pay in blood.

And the worst part?

It’s almost exactly like what Winston told you. An accident, whether intentional or not, committed by someone that did deserve to be punished fairly led to someone being beaten, beheaded and having their remains disrespected. And it was your fault, because you had made the critical mistake of telling all of them.

Ace and Deuce, two people that had promised to treat you as you’d asked who then betrayed that and planned to do it behind your back. Trey, Cater and Riddle, all people you thought would have their own darlings who were not you, proceeded to prove you completely wrong as they too were obsessed with you. And then Chenya just had to add himself into this horrible mix.

You made the worst possible mistake. It’s all too much to process all at once. So you don’t.

More specifically, you pass clean out into Chenya’s arms.

The Red King Holds A Bleeding Head.

The second your consciousness returns, all you can do is cry. The high of adrenaline has finally worn off, replacing it with pain and despair. The illusion of safety has finally dropped to reveal the true danger of your situation, and you can’t bear it.

What did you do to deserve this? Being trapped in a world where people are truly monsters. You had thought Ace and Deuce would honor your request out of their love for you, but clearly you were woefully wrong, just like Winston had told you, they merely did it in the shadows like the Queen did. You had thought Trey, the gentle big brother figure that you thought he was, would never be capable of killing someone, much less using an axe to sever the head of an innocent man off their body without a care in the world, but he did. You didn’t think Cater would be able to torture someone, much less making jokes and posting about it on his Magicam, but he did. You didn’t think Riddle would break one of the most common laws by killing someone so brutally, but he did. They all did something you would never even think that they were capable of, and they’d spend the rest of their lives normally despite it.

And their reasoning was, because those two had hurt you, they deserved to die. If you had just gone back to Ramshackle after those two confronted you, none of this would have happened. Those two delinquents would be alive and they probably would have just gotten their butts kicked without any of their spilt blood being used to paint the garden roses. You sob for the lives you’d unintentionally ended, because you never thought they'd sink that low. This was your fault, because you were stupid. Because you were spiteful.

And now two innocent lives were snuffed out. Because of you.

In your grief, you slam your fist against the floor in misery…

Only to feel something mushy make contact with your hand.

Confused, you open your teary eyes to inspect whatever made contact with your hand. Only to be horrified at the sight of brown flesh, the stinking of decay staining your hand. This is the substance of decomposition, created out of human remains. You look down to find that your fist made contact with what remained of a human skull. Flesh still sticking to bone, and the face contorted in horror.

You scream in terror, only for your other hand to make contact with something else, hard and brittle rather than squishy. You turn around to find that your other hand hit the flesh less remains of a human skull, the spinal cord severed at the neck, as if they’d been beheaded.

In abject horror, you scan the floor where pile after pile of human heads, some decomposing, some just skulls and some whole, scattered across the tiny room. You put two and two together as bile floods the back of your throat. This is the cell Winston mentioned, and you realise in horror and grief that he was recaptured by the Queen of Hearts. While the room is dark, there’s a source of light behind you that actually helps you see all the heads scattered across the floor like a macabre ball pit. You hurriedly scan the room for the source of light, and in your haste-filled confusion, you spot something that makes your heart sink.

A figure sits by candlelight, partially illuminated by a heart-shaped red flame. You recognise them to be Winston, and your heart fills with even more grief and pain as you realise that it means he was dragged back to the Queen’s palace. This must be the room that he begged to not be returned to. Heads in different states of decomposition surround him, red, or at least you think that’s what color they are, chains with heart shaped links chain him to the floor, clinking and rattling together as he moves them in his lap. Winston is murmuring something, unintelligible to you, to himself, whispered so softly that your ears can’t pick the words up.

Either way, your failure, yours and his, is the most noticeable aspect. Winston failed to escape, that was the most miserable part of this whole room, possibly stuck permanently with his controlling, obsessive wife. Still, you realised the same trend in his story with real life. Maybe, there were more similarities. So, despite your nervousness, you call out to him. “Winston?”

Winston immediately shuts up. The chains stop rattling. Eerie silence fills the room. It lasts an eternity, and you can hear the barely audible sound of flame flickering over all else. It makes you anxious, and desperate to know what transpired while you were gone. “Winston? Can you answer me?” You try again, pushing for a reply from the now completely silent king.

<.....I’ve really gone mad, haven’t I?> Winston’s first words fill the room with an oppressive atmosphere. Winston curls in on himself, continuing his painful monologue while sounding absolutely miserable, <...I thought the voices weren’t real, but you keep coming back. And I keep listening… None of this would have happened if I hadn’t listened.>

What… What had happened in the time you were gone? “Winston, I’m not fake, I’m real.” You try to reason, stepping closer to touch him and assure him of your existence. “What happened while I was gone? Did Alice escape?” She has to. The story ends with her returning home, and if she did, then it’s proof you have a way out.

<Why do you keep coming back? Is she trying to punish me more?> Winston doesn’t answer you, instead continuing his rant with his voice going from miserable to erratic. <Is this my punishment for being a disobedient husband?>

“Winston, you’re not. I’m- I was just trying to help you. I’m sorry.” You push your fingers just a few inches away from his back.

Just before your fingers touch him, he says something that makes you freeze and your blood run ice-cold. <It is, isn't it. I should have obeyed her. She wouldn’t be dead…. If I had just obeyed her.>

Fear fills you, joining the mess of terror pooling inside you. You want to hope it’s not true, you send a silent prayer, pleading for it to not be true. “W-Who wouldn’t be dead, if you obeyed her.”

Winston doesn’t answer this time, instead he turns to face you. And nothing more needs to be said.

Rosy skin gone pallid. Terrified blue eyes rolled to the back of her head. Blonde hair cut parallel to the stump of her neck with the ends stained and matted with drying blood. A face slumped lifelessly. Cradled tightly in the tender embrace of the Red King’s arms, held as gently as when a loving father holding his firstborn……

…..is Alice’s Decapitated Head.

You can’t even scream in terror as bile floods the back of your throat, silencing any scream like Alice had been so cruelly. You choke as you try to stop yourself from throwing up, your legs slipping out from underneath you as your body floods with horror.

Alice never escaped. She died in Wonderland.

Images of the delinquents' decapitated heads flash into your vision in the place of Alice’s head. Horrific reminders of the deaths you caused silence you, and Winston starts talking again, making the pool of dread flood the rest of your body.

Tears trail down Winston’s eyes as he speaks, squeezing the head closer to his body. His kingly garb stained a deep crimson in Alice’s blood. <If… If I had just been obedient, she wouldn’t have died. She wouldn’t have suffered. Like all the others.>

Winston’s ‘disobedience’ caused the deaths of so many people, all thrown away in here to be his reminder and this one on his lap was the latest addition. Alice would eventually rot and decay, just like all the others.

<There were more, they rotted away… many years ago….. If I had just behaved, if I just gave in much sooner, none of them would be here.> As each word falls from his lips, you feel the crushing chain of dread lock around your throat like a noose and chaining you down like Winston is to the floor. You had unintentionally caused two deaths, Winston unintentionally caused dozens, maybe hundreds.

A question pops into your mind despite the mental anguish, “Was…was the someone that led you to witnessing the first death…. The Cheshire Cat?”

<...> Winston is silent at first, and then, <....Yes.>

And that confirmed the reality of this. This mess, like yours, the mental anguish and grief that the both of you now were experiencing was because the obsessed took matters into their own hands and killing the innocent. With hindsight, you now can see just how much these deaths became the thing that broke him. Because you had seen two, and that already was breaking you. The Red Queen used the deaths of innocents to manipulate and control her Red King until he gave into her and stopped fighting her abuse. Would that happen to you?

It felt like it already was…. but there was still one hope.

“B-But you can still escape, right?” You ask, trying to cling onto some semblance of hope in this horrific situation. There’s still the doorway he showed you. The locked one that required a magic key that he’d held onto for years. “You have the key to the doorway, you can still escape at any-”

<No, I can’t.> Chills race up and down your spine at the speed of light.

“Why?” You ask, because it’s all you can say.

<Because the key’s been destroyed.> Winston replies, his eyes blank and dead. As if saying that sentence sucked the life out of him. And similarly, it sucks the life, energy and whatever joy remains out of you.

“W-What do you mean?” Winston raises his left hand, a new ring is wrapped over his finger. One that rests right above what you think is his wedding ring. And you recognise the jewel immediately. From the key he showed you. From the one and only key that unlocked the only exit from this world.

Winston still explains, <Mary said that if I wanted to escape so much and if this key meant so much to me, then I could wear it forever. That it could become a sign of my love and faithfulness, and a reminder that she’ll never let me leave her.>

Horror twists violently in your gut. The one way out, the only way out that had proof that it could work had been destroyed. It had been destroyed centuries ago. There was no way out again. And you were trapped to experience the same horrible fate that Winston was experiencing. To be broken by their yanderes’ love.

<I can’t blame her for it. She’s the one that put up with me disobeying her for so long. And if I didn’t want her to execute anyone, I should have been a loyal and faithful husband, or should have stayed safe so she wouldn’t have to kill anyone to protect me.> Winston’s words chill you to your core. Terrify you of what he turned into, what you might be turned into, <No one dies if I stay. I… I keep her calm. And if I’m loving to her, she doesn’t get mad. If I do as she says, and love her… no one will get hurt.>

“I…I,” You struggle to find the right words to represent your despair. Your one way known way out was long gone, and Winston, over the course of four trips to the dream world, became the perfect sign what you’d become one day should you stay here. You feel as if you can’t breathe.

<If I love her, no one gets hurt.> Winston’s lips curl upwards into a strained yet crazed smile. <So, I’ll love her forever, so no one dies.> His expression is the picture of brokenness, of giving up in the name of survival, of being forced to go down a path that ends with you giving in and never returning home.

“Y-You don’t have to-” You try to reason with him, to remind him that he doesn’t have to accept this kind of life. But his hands shoot and grasp at your neck so tightly that breathing is impossible.

<Be quiet! You don’t understand!! I won’t suffer if I’m good!! I won’t be afraid if I do what she wants!!!> He yells whilst choking you, shaking you manically. A thump resounds to your right, as Alice’s head slips from off his lap. <I’ll be happy if I do what she wants! I’ll be happy if I love her!!>

And that’s what he screams over and over, his grip tightening with each scream. Soon you can’t make out words, or shapes or light. Your world fades to black, and you hope just a little bit that you don’t wake up.

Alice will never Return Home.

Unfortunately, your hopes coming true and you aren’t something that go together.

“Nya.. You’re back!” You open your eyes to find Chenya in front of you, staring down at you from the couch he’d probably laid you on. “Didja have a nice catnap?” You stay silent, still shaking from fear and horror from what you'd experienced. “Still not talking, huh?”

“Go away…” You murmur. You feel so miserable, all you want to do is crawl in a deep hole and stay there. You turn away until he’s completely out of your view. “Leave me alone…” Isolation might be the only thing that will keep you sane. Saner than Winston at least. You shiver at the idea of experiencing a relationship with a yandere to the extent of what he had.

“Aww, you want me to leave? Nya, okay..” You can hear the whine and pout in his voice, but you’re just glad he’s going to be gone. “But just so ya know,” Chenya’s arms wrap tightly around your body, squeezing you in a hug with his head on your shoulder. “ Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. If ya ignore me for too long then I’ll really want to see you again, _____.”

Chills race up and down your spine from his words. Being far from them will push them to do whatever it takes to see you again. And that whatever might mean being taken against your will so that he can see you forever.

Noticing your growing terror, he literally purrs out some words of ‘consolation’. “Aww, don’t be scared, I won’t be too far. Buh-bye _____~” The pressure of Chenya’s arms vanish, followed by his voice and his presence and now all you’re left with are Grim’s sleepy snores.

And after that, you break down.

Your body is wracked with uncontrollable sobs. They’re so loud that they’re practically wails of misery. You shake with every sob, curled up into a tight and miserable ball on one of the couches. Your sobs echo through the walls of the condemned building, causing the ghosts to poke their heads out to check on you. But you just keep crying.

Even when you run out of tears, even when your eyes and head burn, even when your throat aches from utter pain, you keep crying until your body is too tired to keep at it. And even then you whimper in your tight ball as you feel the exhaustion and despair finally set in.

You crack your dry eyes open, staring at the blood that had dried against your palms. It’s yours from the wound on your head and small cut on your abdomen but the sight suddenly sickens you and you gag violently. You didn’t even get the opportunity to run to the bathroom with how much bile is spilling into your mouth, instead all the disgust you’ve felt in the last few hours ends up in the kitchen sink. But in the wake of your horrific day, this doesn’t even score.

You scowl in distaste at the blood, grabbing the soap. and cranking the water to the hottest temperature, which isn’t that great but you’d rather stick your bloody hands into a basin of boiling water if it meant the blood could come off as fast as possible. You don’t give a damn about how much your skin burns. You need to get the blood off of you. Your skin burns to the touch as you violently scrub your face and arms, the wound on your head throbs but you don’t care. The sight, no, the thought of blood nauseates you. It reminds you of the two innocent people that just got exsanguinated to become rose paint and hedgehog food.

Innocent blood. Two innocent people were dead, because of a bullshit reason. You can’t decide on whether to laugh or cry at the fact this entire mess started because of an egg yolk. Because you bumped into someone and broke a yolk, two people were just tortured and beheaded to have their blood be used to paint the Heartslabyul garden’s roses.

Despite your dehydration, tears well up in your eyes. None of this would have happened if you never came here, sure; but nothing would have been born out of this if you just accepted Trey’s offer, paid attention to where you were going or even kept your fat mouth shut. If you never did any of those things, those two people would have been alive! You didn’t even know what their names were, and now they were dead. DEAD.

The last of it finally, finally comes off, revealing too red skin. And then another wave of uncontrollable nausea hits you. You vomit right back into the kitchen sink. You can’t help it. Horror and disgust have taken root in your gut, growing like weeds and curling around your lungs and stomach.

You sob miserably. Why did this have to happen to you? Why did this happen to them? And why, why did they have to drop you in a world which had its only known way out destroyed years ago. Probably centuries before NRC was even founded. You were trapped, hopelessly trapped.

You don’t even have the strength to cry. All you can do is collapse onto the cracked linoleum. Your body sags from exhaustion, and you can’t even think of a plan or have even a semblance of optimism. Your spiraling thoughts are too stress-filled to think rationally. You don’t know how to react or who to turn to.

It’s terrifying, disheartening even, that it's similar. The reality between you and Winston. Two people thrown into a whole new world with new excitements and dangers, both assuming that this world would just be a fun little side adventure only to realize that the people here are absolutely crazy and they’re not allowed to leave. It’s painful to realise, but it’s inevitable.

Eventually exhaustion calms your whimpers. And though you’re already weary from your tears, you crawl back into the living area, where Grim was sleeping soundly right where you left him on the couch, unaware of the horrors you just experienced. You drag your fingers through his fur to comfort yourself, feeling his gentle heartbeat under your fingertips. You feel another trail of tears stream down your face as you’re reminded he wouldn’t be sleeping like death if Trey hadn’t poisoned the two of you. And you would have never known about the poisoning if Grim hadn’t eaten most of it.

A part of you wishes you had just finished the drugged treats and never saw what you had seen, but it’s too late for that now. Regrets are all you have now. You sniffle as you wipe the runoff of tears and snot from your burning skin, still feeling as terrified and stressed as you did when you scrubbed a layer of your skin off.

You can’t lie to yourself and say that you weren’t wrong about anything here. Because you had been wrong. So woefully wrong.

If this world ever had any hope of being saved from the insanity it had descended into, it died before you arrived. There was no talking it out, or pulling at the strings of their hearts, they were monsters held back only by their obsessive love for someone that might never reciprocate it. They would lie to your face about respecting your boundaries, and stab someone in their neck the moment you looked away. In the end, the dorm you once thought would be full of potential friends, were as controlling as tyrants. They cared not for how you felt about it, as long as they got what they wanted from you, your wishes came second. And they’d lie as long as the day about following them.

You shouldn’t have been surprised.

In another world, maybe you could have been friends with all of them. Close friends with the playful Ace and determined Deuce. Friends with the changed Riddle, the gentle Trey and the upbeat Cater. Maybe you would be able to hang out with them all, spending time with them in the innocent fun you had today. Tea/study parties with Riddle. Baking with Trey. Taking magicam photos together with Cater. Losing at poker against Ace with Deuce. All that innocent, platonic and, if the mood checked out and you weren’t afraid of risking it, romantic.

But this wasn’t that world.

Realisation is like an axe to the base of your neck, slicing a neck from the stump and ending the life of whatever naivete you had since you discovered the truth of this world. Just like Alice’s, just like the delinquents.

You were so wrong. And so stupid. But there’s only one thing that you’re absolutely sure of.

You don’t want to end up like Winston….

THE RED KING HOLDS A BLEEDING HEAD. CHAPTER 1 END.

#yandere #yandereverse au #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst

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